


Certain Inalienable Rights | Book One: Life

by char_plus_liam



Series: Certain Inalienable Rights [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), American Politics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Espionage, Everyone is in their early 30s, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jet (Avatar)-centric, M/M, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Political Campaigns, Political Drama, Representative Katara, Senator Azula, Senator Jet, Slow Burn, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, books 2 and 3 are going to be so emotional and this is the buildup, this is the happiest book of the trilogy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/char_plus_liam/pseuds/char_plus_liam
Summary: In which small town communist Jet wins his campaign for Senate, big city lawyer Zuko takes on a new client, and both men find something they didn't know they were looking for in Washington D.C. A romance set in the midst of blackmail, bribery, extortion, and more assassination attempts than would usually be called for.This is Book #1 of a pre-planned trilogy. Chapters will be uploaded every Thursday and Sunday. The chapters are written by Liam and illustrated by Char. Please leave comments to let us know how we’re doing!
Relationships: Jet/Longshot (Avatar), Jet/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Certain Inalienable Rights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828051
Comments: 59
Kudos: 120





	1. Election Night

“Well, Daddy, it looks like we were both wrong about Colorado,” Azula called from her position on the sofa. She took a sip from the glass of deep red wine in her left hand, expression edged with growing disappointment as she listened to the news anchor rattle off the newest election results. It was just past midnight and the votes were still being counted in most states west of the Great Plains. Zuko kept his eyes fixed on the television screen while his father made his way back into the living room, coming to stand behind the two. 

“Zhao’s margin of victory was smaller than we’d predicted? That’s troubling,” he began, but Azula interrupted him by increasing the volume on the television. She said nothing, painted lips curling into a smirk as she watched her father’s face fall. 

_In a shocking turn of events, Democratic incumbent Senator Zhao seems to have lost the state of Colorado to newcomer and Communist Party candidate Jet Guerrero. With just over 87% of the vote in, it’s unlikely that Senator Zhao will be able to turn this around by the end of the night, but keep a close eye on Colorado because it’s still anybody’s game. We’ll be right back with more midterm results from the West Coast in just a moment._

* * *

Jet traced his finger around the rim of his pint glass and shot the bartender an appreciative nod before taking a swig of dark, frothy beer — his third for the night, but far from enough to get him drunk yet. Longshot shuddered in mock disgust, but there was a smile on his face. 

“I don’t know how you drink that shit,” he said quietly. 

Jet draped an arm around Longshot and shook him playfully, nearly knocking him off of his stool. “It gets the job done. Besides, tonight is supposed to be a celebration, right? I’m surprised you’re _not_ drinking,” Jet teased. He had insisted that the team go out drinking regardless of the outcome of the race, since they were virtually guaranteed to lose.

“Well, _somebody_ needs to take you two home,” he responded, gesturing to Smellerbee from across the room. She didn’t notice. “That same somebody needs to be sober enough to clean out the campaign office tomorrow morning before our lease ends,” Longshot continued.

“What, that broom closet? Come on. You don’t need to be sober to do that. What’s really got you in a mood? You can’t lie to me, you know,” Jet said.

Longshot was silent, unsure how he should respond to that. He stared down at the counter— it was uncomfortably sticky from a long night of service, but that was to be expected from any dive bar that Jet frequented. When he met Jet’s eyes again, he found those stupid eyebrows of his arched in concern. He sighed.

“You can sign it to me if you want.” Jet added, “just no promises I’ll get every word of it.”

Longshot grumbled as if to protest, but his hands went into motion despite him. Jet stared intently at the slow, deliberate movements of Longshot’s fingers, meant just for him. 

_I’m trying not to be upset that we lost. I know we expected to lose, but it still hurts. I got my hopes up when I shouldn’t have._

“Ah,” Jet said, pausing to think. “For what little it’s worth, Longshot, I think you did a great job with the campaign. Better than I could’ve done, that’s for fuckin’ sure,” he said, taking another sip of his beer. He broke eye contact, focus shifting to Smellerbee again. She looked happy, absorbed in her conversation with a woman just out of her league. Jet smiled.

“We always knew Colorado wasn’t going to elect a communist. Remember our first day door-knocking? How many doors got slammed in our faces, and how pissed I was? You were the one who told _me_ not to quit.”

Longshot hesitated before signing again. 

_I feel like a failure._

Jet’s brows furrowed. 

“Look… We had a good run for three jackasses in a storage room, right? Who could’ve thought we would even get this far? That we would even be on the ballot? I’m proud of us!” Jet said. He took the other man’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. “I’m proud of _you_ , Longshot. Honestly.”

Longshot forced a half-smile that quickly vanished as Jet pulled his hand back. 

“Besides, this was just a practice run. Zhao’s spot will be up for grabs again in two years,” Jet said. “He won’t even know what hit him.”

“Yeah,” Longshot agreed quietly. _Just two more years until we fail again,_ his silence implied, but he didn’t say it out loud.

Both men were startled by the sudden presence of Smellerbee’s hands on their shoulders, nails digging in so as to assure she got their attention. The shorter woman had a terrifyingly strong grip, causing Jet to wince in pain.

“Ow! What the hell was that for, Bee?” Jet seethed, massaging the spot where her nails had been buried.

She thrust her phone into his face, and he took it from her with a huff. Longshot leaned in to see what Jet was reading, a puzzled look on his face. Jet squinted at the words on the screen, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

When the two men glanced back up, Smellerbee was beaming ear-to-ear.

“You’re kidding,” Jet said. “This is a joke. There’s no… that’s not funny, Smellerbee.”

“I’m not kidding! Look it up for yourself!”

Longshot had already slipped his own phone out of his pocket, furiously typing into Google, hands shaking, before turning it around to show Jet. The taller man went completely silent.

“... We won. Oh my god… We won! What the fuck?”

“We won!” Smellerbee screeched, jumping up and down. Jet leapt off of his barstool to join her, steady rambling.

“Holy shit! We won! How did we win? How the _fuck_ did we win? By how much?”

“Does it matter? Jet, we won! We did it!”

Longshot sat stunned, mouth gaping as he scrolled hurriedly through more news articles. He was yanked out of his seat by Smellerbee, who spun him around while Jet rushed to pay their tab. 

“Hurry up, Jet, damn! We’ve got to get you back to HQ!”

“What? Why? I thought we would go home and celebrate for real?” he asked.

“Not yet. I’ve got you booked to give a victory speech from home base, Senator Guerrero,” she grinned. “News wants to hear from the commie. Makes good TV.”

“Christ, I don’t know how I’m gonna get used to ‘Senator Guerrero,’” Jet mumbled, struggling to shove his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans as the trio left the bar. 

“You’re gonna have to. We won!” Smellerbee shouted again, sprinting into the freezing November air of the parking lot and excitedly pulling on the locked door handle of Longshot’s 2008 Toyota Prius.

“Did we win? I’m not sure I‘m clear on that,” Jet joked. 

“Shut up and get in the car, Senator,” she shot back. “You’ve got important business to attend to. Do you even have a speech?”

“Uh… no comment.”

“ _What? Jet!_ ” she scolded.

Jet slid into the passenger seat, ducking (unsuccessfully) to avoid hitting his head on the roof of the car as Longshot turned his keys in the ignition and sighed. 

* * *

  
  


Zuko tried to let the T.V. drown out the voices of his family, but it was hard to ignore their noisy laughter and play-by-play commentary from just a few feet away. He hadn’t moved from his current position in nearly two hours, pretending to be deeply engrossed in perhaps the most boring media in the world, at least in his opinion: _midterm election results._ They had no reason to still be watching— Azula’s victory had been announced hours prior, and she had obliterated her competition, winning reelection in a landslide victory as was typical of her political endeavors. He assumed that his sister just wanted to get a good look at her new coworkers before January came around and it was too late to start putting faces to names as they were being sworn in.

When exactly he zoned back in, he couldn’t say, but without warning Zuko found himself blinking back into reality just in time to see another interview begin. He reached out to tap Azula on the leg, saying nothing and quickly pointing to the screen. Seeing what was on the television, Azula hurriedly sat up, snatching the remote from Zuko and turning the volume up once more. 

_Alright, Joo Dee, thanks for that update from Nevada for us. Really interesting to see how things are shaking out down there. I think even more interesting, though, is the situation in Colorado— let’s pull up this map real quick... You can see here that while Senator Zhao seems to have garnered more widespread support throughout the state, Communist Party candidate and presumed victor Jet Guerrero has absolutely dominated in the more urban areas, likely due to a high turnout among younger demographics this year, like we saw earlier tonight on the East Coast. I’m being told that we actually have a reporter with Jet right now; hopefully that can shed some light on this unforeseen outcome for Zhao._

“Mm, good. I’d like to see this _Jet_ character,” Ozai grumbled. Azula motioned for him to shush, and despite the flicker of anger in his eyes at the gesture, her father was quiet.

There was a brief moment of pause before the camera switched to a live feed showing a young man— _Jet,_ Zuko thought— standing at a podium with a “Jet for Colorado” banner draped lovingly over its face. Behind him stood two other people, who Zuko could only assume to be campaign staffers, nervously whispering to Jet before the trio seemed to notice the camera and froze like deer caught in headlights.

“That can’t be him,” Azula snickered from beside Zuko. “Look, dad, he doesn’t even have a speech ready. How badly did Zhao have to fuck up for this idiot to get a single vote?”

Jet cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Uh… I guess first of all I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone who helped on the campaign, because I couldn’t have done any of this without my Freedom Fighters… To be completely honest, I think we’re all still in shock… So I’m also insanely thankful to the people of Colorado for believing in me. Believing in the cause, I guess. I know it’s not every day that a communist gets elected in this country, so I’m going to make the most of it. At least before the CIA gets me— ow,” he lost his train of thought with a kick from one of his staffers. Cut the jokes.

Azula rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the performance given so far. Zuko found himself fixated on Jet, the fiery look in his big brown eyes even as he fumbled his impromptu speech, his way his unkempt hair fell somehow perfectly around his face. Zuko swallowed hard.

In a surge of confidence, Jet continued.

“This victory isn’t just mine, though. This is a victory for every person in this community that’s been kept down. For every farmer, every teacher, every working mom that I’ve talked to over the past year. Tonight you _all_ proved to this country that you’ve had _enough_ of the status quo. Now it’s my turn to take that message to Washington,” he said, pausing for effect. 

“I won’t let you down. Thank you.”

  
Zuko watched closely as Jet left the podium, his staffers tailing him as the broadcast returned to the newsroom. For a moment, no one said anything.

“How heroic,” Azula finally said with a snort as she finished her wine. “They’re going to eat him alive.”


	2. The Morning After

Zuko arrived home early the next morning, a two-hour drive from the Long Island beach house that Azula called home during the political off-season and where the family had gathered to watch the election results come in the previous night. His chauffeur dropped him off outside his building, an apartment complex in Manhattan’s Upper West Side that practically screamed  _ old money _ at less fortunate passersby. Shivering, Zuko thanked him before heading inside, being greeted with a smile by the woman at the front desk as he shuffled into the elevator and rode up to the 42nd floor. 

He yawned as he entered the apartment, not bothering to flick the lights on; the sun would be rising in another hour or two, anyway. Stumbling into the kitchen, he tossed his suit jacket over a chair and peeled off his gloves. Spending the night at Azula’s had left him with a horrible headache that he knew from experience only caffeine would fix— and he had to fix it before work. He sat in silence waiting for his coffee to brew, warming his hands. It didn’t take long for life to return to his icy fingers, and against his better judgement, he decided to take his coffee onto the balcony.

The penthouse— his father hated when he called it an apartment— offered him a nearly 360° view of the city. From here he could see Central Park, and Midtown just past it. If he turned his head and squinted he could make out the figures of tiny people across the Hudson in New Jersey. The mug of coffee, no sugar or cream, helped to keep his hands warm as he listened to the screeches of buses and taxis below, the faint howl of a siren in the distance, and the morning chirps of birds that didn’t usually show themselves. He appreciated the white noise. It acted as a filter between him and his thoughts.

Zuko’s smartphone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from his girlfriend, Mai.

_ [5:24 AM] Mai: Are you home yet? Call me. _

He moved away from the ledge and back inside, setting his mug on a low glass table in the living room, and rang Mai. She picked up almost instantly.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mai. How did you sleep?”

“Not at all, actually. Ty Lee wanted to take ‘Team Azula’ clubbing to celebrate reelection. I’m assuming you haven’t been to bed, either?”

“No, I haven’t. I just got home. Clubbing, huh?”

“I went along with it for her sake. I never said I enjoyed it.”

“Well, I’m glad you got out of the office for a change,” Zuko said. “It sounds like fun.”

“What, was spending the night with Azula less fun than you expected?” Mai asked, and Zuko could hear her smirk through the phone. 

“Don’t remind me. I already have a headache,” Zuko said with a sigh.

“I know,” she said. “You always get headaches when you stay up all night.”

Zuko hummed in acknowledgement and reclined in his seat, rubbing his temple. Cold air was streaming in from the balcony door, but he didn’t get up to close it.

“So, did anything interesting happen last night? What am I in for this January?” Mai asked.

“Nothing too surprising. Zhao is gone,” he said.

“Really? Good riddance. Who’s the fresh meat?”

Zuko thought back to last night, watching Jet give his improvised victory speech and how his father and Azula had reacted. He almost pitied the other man— he couldn’t possibly know what lay in store for him in the coming months.

“You’ll never believe this, but it went to that communist everyone was laughing about last year. Azula said Zhao must’ve really fucked up for it to happen, but I don’t know.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” she said, but Zuko could tell she was being sarcastic. “If you’re right, though, I feel bad for the guy. Nobody is going to take kindly to him stealing a seat from a Democrat. What’s his name, anyway?”

“Jet,” Zuko said, running the name over. It was his first time saying it out loud. “Jet Guerrero.”

* * *

Longshot reached out to adjust Jet’s tie, but was stopped by Smellerbee, who held her hand up to block him from getting to it. The trio were backstage on the set of a morning show, standing off to the side to avoid being trampled by the constant stream of staff zipping around like worker bees. Smellerbee placed her hands on Jet’s shoulders, her grip firm. 

“Alright, Jet. Let’s go over it one last time.”

Jet nodded, tugging at his shirt collar before Smellerbee got his attention with a snap. He was burning up under the stage lights, and suddenly his suit was extremely stuffy and itchy, more than it had ever been before. 

“Hey! Are you listening to me? This is your first actual interview. You can’t fuck it up,” Smellerbee snapped, like a mother scolding her child.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’m listening,” Jet said, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“Okay…” she inhaled deeply. “Tell me what you’re going to do out there.”

Jet tried to remember what they had rehearsed. He could’ve sworn he had it memorized half an hour ago— it was something stupid that he hadn’t agreed with but consented to for his team’s sake.

“I’m going to talk about my economic policies in a way that doesn’t alienate liberals,” he said, their conversation from the long drive into Denver popping back into his head. Smellerbee had spent the time lecturing Jet on what he could and couldn’t say, with the occasional comment from Longshot.

“Good. And what does that mean specifically?” 

“Raising taxes on the rich, increasing the state minimum wage, and cancelling student debt,” he recited.

“Perfect. What are we  _ not _ going to mention yet?”

“Anything else,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly. I know this pisses you off, Jet, but we have to make people like you before we can start quoting Mao.”

“I know, I know. Just wish they would hurry up and start liking me,” he complained.

“One minute, you guys,” Longshot whispered, gesturing nervously to his watch. Smellerbee sighed as Jet tried, to no avail, to straighten out the wrinkles in his suit.

“You’re gonna do fine. Just… be yourself out there, make sure you smile. People love you— God only knows why, but they do. Answer her questions and avoid the communism talk, okay? We need everyone in Washington to see this and trust you,” she instructed.

“Relax, Bee. I’ve got it all under control,” Jet said, fixing his tie with a wink before Longshot had a stroke. “I’ll have them eating out of the palm of my hand. With or without the communism talk. No promises.”

“ _ Jet!” _ she hissed as an intern dragged him away. Smellerbee pinched the bridge of her nose in anger and Longshot gave him a pathetic thumbs-up as he was brought on set, designed to make the interview look more like a casual conversation between friends, as if the presence of a sofa instead of a newsroom put guests at ease.

_ You might recognize our next guest if you’ve been keeping track of the election for the past six months; he’s the Colorado local who just won a spot on the United States Senate at only 33 years old, and calls himself a communist “Freedom Fighter.” Say hello to Congressman-elect Jet Guerrero! _

When Jet’s cheeky smile faded in response to the audience, whose reactions ranged from confused applause to stifled laughter, Smellerbee knew they were in trouble. Longshot clasped her hand in his silently and squeezed it tightly.  _ Here we go. _

* * *

Zuko arrived at the law firm at 8 A.M. sharp, hanging his coat on the rack by the door out of habit despite knowing he would be leaving for the courthouse before he truly had a chance to warm up. He was typically the first one to arrive for work, sometimes getting there as early as 6 A.M., but he had allowed himself to stall a little bit, just this once, because he’d had such a rough night. When he turned the corner, he found that the rest of the staff were already hard at work. Good.

He attempted to head straight for his office, hoping to shut the thick wooden door and have a moment alone to read over the day’s relevant paperwork, but was stopped by his brother-in-law, Chan, who was on his way back from the copier that lay just past Zuko’s office. Chan greeted him with a grin and followed him into the room.  _ Great. _

“Hey, Zuko!” Chan said, shutting the door behind him as Zuko sat down behind his desk. 

“Good morning, Chan,” Zuko said curtly, wishing the other man would take a hint.

“You seem kind of… off,” Chan said.

“I didn’t get much sleep. Your wife got reelected to the Senate, you know, so we were all up celebrating. Where were you last night? My father had expected you.”

Zuko would never pass on the opportunity to grill an annoying in-law.

“Ah, well… I had some work to get to after hours, you know. Azula must’ve told you.”

“If she had told me, I wouldn’t have asked that, would I have? But I see. What were you working on? Was it that acquisition that Shenyi has been pestering me about for the Brooks’ private equity firm? Because if it was, you need to tell her that I’ve already spoken to the client and told them it’s a bad idea—“ 

“Uh… no. It wasn’t,” Chan mumbled, watching Zuko pull up the file as he was reminded of it.

“She had me looking into that new guy from Colorado. The commie,” Chan said. Zuko looked up from his computer and rolled his eyes.

“What did she want you to find, his taxes?” Zuko asked sarcastically. “I don’t understand why everyone’s so curious about him. It’s a fluke. He’ll serve one term, realize it’s not for him, and everything will go back to normal.”

Truth be told, Zuko was curious about him, too, but he would never admit it to Chan. 

“Everyone’s interested because the dude is a fucking lunatic, Zuko. I feel horrible for whatever asshole has to represent him in court. Have you seen that clip from this morning?” Chan asked.

“No, I haven’t. I try to focus on my work in the morning.”

Chan ignored the thinly veiled insult, coming around to the other side of Zuko’s desk and pulling up YouTube. He typed the title of the video, ‘ _ Crazy SJW storms off Morning Joo Dee’,  _ into the search bar and clicked on the second result. Zuko leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

* * *

  
  


Sitting across from his interviewer, a woman that he recognized as Joo Dee from the evening news, Jet had never felt so nervous in his life; he tried not to let it show, but he wasn’t sure he was doing a very convincing job of acting natural. His suit was going to make him pass out from heat exhaustion.

“So, Jet, it’s the morning after your big surprise victory. Has it set in yet?” Joo Dee asked, a smile plastered on her face that was more unnerving than comforting.

“Honestly? I don’t think it’s ever going to set in,” Jet said with an awkward laugh. “Just last night Smellerbee was calling me ‘Senator’ and it didn’t sound right at all.”

“Smellerbee?” Joo Dee raised an eyebrow, and the audience laughed.

“Oh— my campaign manager, Sung-min. My bad. It’s a nickname from college,” he explained.  _ Nice going, idiot. _

“That’s a…  _ strange _ nickname, but I guess we’ve learned by now that nothing about this situation is normal,” she chuckled.

Jet felt his cheeks start to heat up and desperately probed for a familiar face in the crowd—  _ something _ to ground him. He came up empty-handed and with the same horrible feeling rising in his throat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jet asked, interrupting a question he hadn’t even heard.

The words had spilled out of his mouth before he could even process them. Joo Dee blinked in surprise at being interrupted before answering.

“Well, it’s just a fascinating turn of events. I mean, I’m sure if I had told  _ you _ a few months ago that you would win the election, you would have thought I was kidding. Surely you couldn’t have anticipated this.”

“I wouldn’t have bothered running if I didn’t think I could win, right? Kind of a weird thing to say,” Jet laughed. She didn’t return the favor.

“I didn’t mean any offense by it, Jet. Now—”

“No, no, hold on. I have to know, Joo Dee. Why is it strange that I won?” Jet asked, his voice taking on a challenging tone. He could practically feel Smellerbee’s rage even from here— it felt like tiny hands around his throat in the studio parking lot— but it didn’t matter. He would make them take him seriously, whether they wanted to or not.

“Oh, come on,” she started in disbelief before catching Jet’s hardened expression. “I just meant that you’re… your platform doesn’t exactly align with traditional American values.”

“My platform? What part of it, the communism or being a faggot?” Jet blurted out, earning a collective gasp from the audience. 

“I didn’t say anything about that,” Joo Dee said, trying to calm him down. 

“What’s the next question?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Just— just keep going,” he said in a last-ditch attempt to salvage the interview. He was never going to hear the end of this.

There was a brief silence as Joo Dee cleared her throat and flipped through her prepared questions. Jet’s heart was pounding, a horrible mix of fear and frustration that he knew from experience made him liable to lash out.

“What are you gonna ask me about? My homosexual lifestyle? We can talk about that. I can tell you all about it,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

When Joo Dee’s eyes widened and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, Jet knew that it wasn’t a joke.

“You’re serious? You have questions about that?” Jet asked. “I was fucking kidding.”

“Jet— I’m not the one who writes the questions, you know—”

“No, you know what? I think we’re done here,” he said, standing up. He began to strip himself of his microphone and other equipment.

“Jet,” she urged. “There’s no need for that. Just sit back down and we can talk about whatever you want.”

“Thanks for the interview. Bye,” he said, flipping off the camera as he stormed off stage. Smellerbee grabbed him angrily by the wrist as soon as he walked past, dragging him out of the studio with Longshot in tow.

* * *

“See? Who the hell does that?” Chan asked, closing the tab before another video could begin. He looked to Zuko for a response.

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. He sat back up in his chair, uncrossing his arms. “You’re right, though. I do pity the poor bastard that has to argue for him in court.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Chan chuckled. “I’m gonna get back to work now, okay? We’ll talk,” he said, exiting the office before Zuko could ask him about ‘work.’ He shut the door with a thud, leaving Zuko alone with his thoughts.

Zuko sat thinking for a moment before getting up and shutting the blinds, obscuring the rest of the firm from his view. The room became darker instantly. Returning to his seat, Zuko pulled up his web browser and went to his history.  _ There it was. _

He clicked on the video Chan had shown him, hand moving to cover the lower half of his face as he watched, his curiosity getting the better of him and demanding he find out just what this guy’s deal was.

Maybe Azula was right to have her husband investigate. He couldn’t help but wonder what Chan had found.

  
  



	3. Aspirations

“Zuko, hold this,” Azula said, handing her brother another bag before heading back to her conversation with a sales clerk. He was already lugging around three of them, all Azula’s, following her around the city as the two talked.

It had been a week since Azula got reelected to the Senate and the two were trying to have some ‘sibling bonding time’ before she had to head back to Washington. While it was only November, giving her just over a month before Congress began again, the holiday season was swiftly approaching and they would be too busy at parties and charity events to have time alone. No matter how Azula got on his nerves, Zuko appreciated the chance to catch up; they hadn’t had time like this since the whole family had gotten together for Azula’s wedding. 

She had always been the better spender of their father’s massive fortune. The wedding in question had cost upwards of $300,000, if Zuko remembered correctly, and that didn’t include the cost of flying everyone in for the affair. Their father had happily paid for it in full, his way of showing how much he cared for his darling little girl, and Zuko spent the weekend dodging questions from worried relatives about why his baby sister was getting hitched before he did. That had been years ago, and those same relatives had just about given up on the idea of Zuko ever getting married. It just wasn’t in his stars.

Even now, during their limited time together, the siblings were spending it shopping. Zuko was perched on a seat inside some fancy shoe store with an Italian name he couldn’t pronounce despite his European high school education, holding Azula’s bags. To onlookers, they probably looked like a couple. Zuko shivered at the thought, watching Azula talk quietly with the sales clerk on the other side of the boutique. How long could it possibly take to pick out shoes? He glanced down at his own dark brown Oxfords, recently shined and custom-fit, just like the rest of his extensive wardrobe. So, alright, maybe he was a hypocrite. That didn’t change the fact that Azula had been here for almost an hour and had yet to pick anything out.

When his sister did finally come back over, Zuko bolted up, eager to leave the store. Azula laughed at the sight of it, slinging the newest bag over her own shoulder this time. Zuko smiled.

“Alright, alright, you’ve been patient. Let’s go,” she said.

“Thank god,” Zuko sighed with relief. “Where to now?”

“I figured I’d reward your fortitude with lunch, on me. How does that sound?”

“Like heaven,” he said. It did. He had been lucky enough to catch her in a good mood today, and he was going to make the most of it. 

The two cringed as they stepped foot outside, the frigid air of late autumn in the American northeast hitting them full-force. It was times like these Zuko was thankful for their personal driver, waiting for them just down the street. They slid into the backseat of the car as quickly as they could, Azula rubbing her cold hands together like she was trying to create fire, and Zuko wrapping his scarf tightly around his face.

* * *

“Fuck!” Jet shouted as a roach scurried out from under the cardboard box he had just lifted. The box and its contents went tumbling to the linoleum floor, papers spilling everywhere and a few more bugs skittering away in fear.

“You okay?” Smellerbee called from the next room over, poking her head out of the door.

“Yeah, yeah. Just another roach,” Jet mumbled, dusting himself off.

“Again? Do you think the building has a problem?” she asked, entering the storage room where Jet was currently picking up papers. She bent over to help, stacking them neatly before setting them in the box from which they came. Jet dumped his papers unceremoniously on top and shut the lid. 

“Beats me. Do we care? We’re moving out.”

“Sure, but I don’t want to get blamed for an infestation if it turns out the problem is just this office. Not unless you wanna pay for the exterminator.”

“If they say it’s us, they’re enemies of the state,” he said bluntly. Smellerbee rolled her eyes.

“I keep forgetting you actually won. How long has it been, a week? And it’s already going to your head.”

“It’s a joke. You’re supposed to laugh,” Jet said, hoisting up another box and motioning for her to follow him. “Help me bring these to the truck.”

She did as she was told, placing her box next to his in the back of the pickup truck they had rented. Jet proceeded to climb onto the cargo bed and duct tape them closed, ensuring that their old paperwork wouldn’t go flying onto Route 285 on their way back to Alamosa. 

The trio was going home for the holidays, intent to see their sleepy little desert town one last time before the big move to Washington post-Christmas. Things had been hectic for ‘Team Jet’ since Jet’s fumbled interview with Joo Dee, leading to Smellerbee extending their lease on the office space by another week so they would have time (and space) to handle the public reaction.

The public reaction was mixed, to put it lightly. While there was a small community, mostly online, of people who absolutely loved how Jet handled himself on air, the majority of Americans seemed to think he was nothing but a self-entitled rebellious brat, raised foolishly on participation trophies instead of spankings. While that sentiment couldn’t be further from the truth, the notion stuck, and it was an uphill battle trying to put a stop to the calls for Jet to step down before he had even been sworn in as Senator.

Longshot emerged from the office with a clipboard, leaning against the truck and pulling a pen out from behind his ear to check things off his list. Jet moved to be beside him, ruffling the other man’s hair with a boyish playfulness. Longshot tried, to no avail, to stop his face from reddening. Smellerbee looked away, fixing her gaze on the boxes in front of her.

“I think we’ve earned a break, don’t you guys? Let’s go inside for a bit, smoke a joint,” Jet suggested, taking his hand off Longshot’s head. 

“You know we don’t have time for that, Jet,” Smellerbee said. It wasn’t a definite no. The woman liked her weed more than either of the two men, and wouldn’t exactly put up a fight if they were to ignore her scolding and go inside to smoke. 

“We have all the time in the world. Who’s really waiting for us back in Alamosa? It’s not like anybody is counting down the minutes ‘til we get back home,” Jet said. He nudged Longshot, who shrugged in agreeance.

“You know I’d love to, but the office can’t smell like pot when we move out. The owner will have a fit,” Smellerbee explained.

“Longshot?” Jet asked. Longshot paused for a second, weighing his options.

“... I have gummies in the car,” he finally said with a tiny smile. Jet grinned.

“I knew you would, pal,” Jet said, patting Longshot on the back as the shorter man headed for his car, his smile fading at the word ‘pal’. Jet didn’t notice.

* * *

It was a little unnerving how Azula studied the way Zuko picked at his food. He tried to ignore the way his stomach churned when he felt her eyes land on him, reading him like some ancient manuscript that had to be decoded. _This_ , he reminded himself, _is why we don’t spend more time with Azula._ The lights inside the restaurant were dim, and the dining room was quiet— but not _too_ quiet. Azula felt comfortable enough with the noise level to strike up a conversation with her older brother.

“So, Zuko. How are things at the firm?” she asked, her inflection implying that she didn’t really care to hear the answer.

Zuko looked up from his plate to meet her eyes. Despite her wordless observation from before, he found a strange softness in her expression.

“Things are good. Busy,” he added. “But I guess I’d rather have too much work than no work at all. What about you?”

“Oh, you know how it goes. Mai and Ty Lee are helping me prep for the move back to D.C. after Thanksgiving. Since this is my second season in office, it should be fun… We’re not the new kids in the Senate anymore.”

“Were you ever really the ‘new kids,’ though?” Zuko asked. “I mean, we were raised around a lot of those people. Father’s friends.”

“It’s different when they’re your coworkers, Zuko. Trust me. It’s like you and Chan,” she said with a smirk.

“Ah. Well, in that case, I’m glad you’re not the ‘new kid’ anymore.”

“I am, too. Within the decade I should be the majority leader, you know. That’s assuming the country elects a Democratic Senate again, which the polls seem to support happening. Just one more step up the ladder,” she explained.

“And then? I mean… what’s at the top of the ladder for you?” 

Azula tilted her head to the side ever-so-slightly, seemingly confused with the question. Like it didn’t even need to be asked.

“President, obviously. I want to be the first female President,” she answered. “I’m _going_ to be the first female President.”

Zuko was stunned into silence, unable to do anything but stare.

“Well? Don’t act so surprised. I’ve wanted that job since I was a little girl. You know that,” she said.

“I guess— I didn’t know you still thought about it,” he replied. He paused before elaborating. “But it does make sense. Aren’t you worried people might find you a bit too center-left?”

“Oh, please. The people don’t actually care about my politics. They just want a candidate who makes them feel good about themselves. I do a few speeches in Nowhere, Wisconsin about being a woman and needing to restore dignity to the office, I kiss a few babies and hand out some bumper stickers, and next thing you know I’m the President,” she joked. Zuko nodded.

“Make sure you keep that in mind during Congress, then. Your voting record will matter,” he said

“ _Zuko,_ ” Azula groaned in frustration, reaching across the table to grab his hand. She looked him dead in the eyes. “How do I get you to understand that it doesn’t _matter?_ All I need to do is stay out of scandals, and even then, there’s nothing I couldn’t bounce back from. Not with you as my lawyer and Team Azula controlling my media coverage. It’s only up from here, Zuzu,” she said. Zuko’s face flushed at the childhood nickname. She only used it when she was teasing him.

“If you say so,” he conceded. “You have my support.”

“I know,” she said, letting go of his hand. Zuko’s phone buzzed from his jacket pocket; he took it out and read the notification. It was from his father.

_[1:22 PM] Father: Meet me back home at 3. I have a job for you._

His brows furrowed as he read it over, causing Azula to lean over and see what he was looking at. She chuckled.

“I guess we’re done for the day, then. Wonder what he needs _you_ for?” she asked, before signalling to a waiter to bring her their bill. 

* * *

“Wait, wait, wait, read this one!” Smellerbee said with a laugh as she lazily passed another hate letter to Jet. Jet took it with a goofy smile and cleared his throat. He began with his best impression of an old woman’s voice, which made Longshot burst into laughter, hearty and unrestrained. Jet looked pleased with himself.

“Dear _Traitor,_ ” Jet read, eliciting more giggles from the other two. 

“My name is Judith Miller from Huntsville, Alabama. I am writing this letter to you to tell you how _disgusted_ I was after seeing your interview on Facebook. Shame on you! You are a _disgrace_ to the brave men and women who died fighting for our freedom. _America_ will never be a communist country. We believe in our constitution which gives us rights that you can _never_ take away. It is shameful for a young man like yourself to be disrespecting our nation’s great history like this. You need to get a real job and stop trying to make America just another socialist shithole—“

“Stop, oh my god, you have to stop,” Longshot managed to get out between laughs. “It’s too much.”

“Hey, man, you were the one who suggested we read hate mail. I can’t believe you sift through this shit every day!” Jet said, folding the paper back up and tossing it back into the pile of letters Longshot had brought in from the car.

“It’s not as funny without you guys,” the other man shrugged. 

“What? You don’t think Judith has a point?” Jet asked. “She even has a song named after her!”

“Oh, lord, here we go,” Smellerbee said. “Shut up about the Beatles! Nobody gives a fuck!”

Jet’s brows furrowed as he tried to remember the lyrics to _Hey Jude._ Longshot thought the confused expression on his face was adorable.

“You’re lucky I don’t know the lyrics right now,” Jet said. “I just know _na... na na na-na na-na… na-na—”_

“Shut up and read another letter,” Smellerbee said, chucking an envelope at his head.

“Ow! You’re gonna give me a papercut!” Jet whined. He struggled to open the envelope before eventually deciding to rip it apart. He unfolded the paper inside, scanning the contents of the letter, when his face suddenly fell.

“Jet? You okay?” Longshot asked.

“Uhh… yeah,” Jet said, folding up the sheet of paper and putting it in the pocket of his flannel. “That one is boring. Let’s read a different one.”

“If you say so,” Smellerbee said, passing him a different envelope. He put on his best smile and began to read aloud once more. He tried not to think about the other letter just yet. He didn’t want to cry in front of his friends.

_To Senator Guerrero,_ the letter had begun. _Hello Mr. Senator! Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to read this letter. My name is Martín, and I’m a ninth grader from Conejos County, Colorado. I know you must get a lot of mail, so I hope that you actually read this. I just wanted to tell you that I really liked your interview on the Morning Joo Dee show. My mom turned it off when it came on TV before school, but I looked it up on YouTube later because I wanted to see what you said. I’m the only gay kid in my high school and I sometimes feel lonely, especially because I’m still in the closet and there aren’t many other LGBT people in town. I thought I should write a letter to tell you that you’re a huge inspiration to me, because I didn’t think someone from a small town like me could do what you did, especially because you’re also gay. You make me want to be an activist when I graduate. Thank you for working so hard and for reading this letter, and I hope you have fun in Washington D.C.!_

_P.S. You shouldn’t call yourself ‘faggot’ anymore. I think it makes people uncomfortable._

_Sincerely, Martín Ortega_

_Conejos County, Colorado, 81124_

  
  


* * *

Ozai met his son at the door, opening it wider so that Zuko could step inside. He gestured to the seating area just inside the home; it was the same place where the family had been last week, watching for Azula’s election results on the news. Zuko sat down on the leather sofa, opposite his father, who was wearing a clean-pressed suit despite having been home all day. Unnecessary formality must have ran in the family.

Ozai coughed hard into his fist, breathing in deep and clearing his throat before speaking. Since Zuko and his sister were now in their thirties, their father was approaching typical retirement age— he _had_ already retired, but that was because of his wealth, not his inability to work. In his mid-sixties, Ozai was beginning to see the symptoms of time as they descended upon him; his black hair was thinning, skin beginning to wrinkle and spot like old fruit, and he had developed the aforementioned cough as a result of the cold temperatures that came with the season. 

“Zuko,” he began, voice clear and strong despite his age. “I have a request of you and your law firm.”

Zuko watched intently as Ozai slid a file across the glass coffee table, picking it up and beginning to flip through the documents inside. The name stuck out to Zuko just as its owner did: _Jet Guerrero_. It had been following him all week.

“I need you to take him on as a client. Azula doesn’t realize it yet, but I’ve been doing my research, and this boy has the potential to be a threat in ten years’ time,” Ozai explained. “That being said, he also has the potential to do nothing with his time in office and fade into the annals of history like every other unremarkable Congressman of the past three hundred years. I want you to make sure that’s what happens.”

Zuko looked up at his father, not sure he understood what was being asked of him. “How exactly do I do that?” he asked.

“He has a troubled history. Drugs, mostly. There are plenty of future scandals laying in that file,” Ozai smirked. “He’ll need a lawyer. A defense attorney. You’re going to be the first to offer up your services when he arrives in Washington. Our man on the inside.”

“And what if he says no?”

“That’s why you have the file. Make him an offer he can’t refuse— but only if you absolutely have to, mind you.” 

Zuko nodded slowly, mind racing but terrified to ask too many questions. He had learned that the hard way nearly twenty-five years ago.

“Write him an email, call his office, do _something_ and do it _tonight._ This isn’t a task to give to some secretary, either. You have to be the first. Do you understand?”

“Yes, father. I’ll make sure it happens.”

“Good. I’m counting on you,” Ozai said, eyes full of pride.

Zuko hated the way it made his heart swell.

  
  



	4. Reaching Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT!!
> 
> Trigger Warning for discussion of sensory overload. 
> 
> The final scene includes a description of Zuko having an episode in which he's hyperaware of himself and his surroundings. Please take caution!

“Jet, I think you should look at this,” Longshot said, his expression grim, and turned his laptop around so that Jet could see the screen. 

The trio had arrived back in Alamosa the previous night after several long hours on the road, passing out as soon as they stepped foot in Smellerbee’s house. Now the next morning, her living room and kitchen had been transformed into the temporary headquarters for Team Jet; stacks of paperwork and manila folders were built waist-high in the area surrounding Longshot and Jet, both still in their pajamas at the kitchen table. Jet yawned as he pulled the laptop closer to him, squinting to read the email that Longshot was showing him.

_[From: Zuko Wang (_ _zuko@wanglegalnyc.com_ _)]_

 _[To: Lanh Tiet (_ _tiet_longshot88@gmail.com_ _)]_

_Dear Mr. Tiet,_

_I hope this email finds you well. My name is Zuko Wang and I am writing to you on the behalf of my law firm, Wang Legal Group. You can visit our website if you wish; the URL is in my email address. Our primary areas of legal services include, but are not limited to: criminal defense, corporate and business law, mergers and acquisitions law, and the provision of personal legal counsel. A client of mine, who will remain anonymous, reached out to me recently to recommend that I contact you about providing our services to your employer, Senator-elect Junayd Guerrero. It has since been brought to my attention that you, Mr. Tiet, are his primary legal counsel at the moment, in addition to your contributions to his Senatorial campaign. I mean no offense when I say to you that Mr. Guerrero will need the advice of more than a single lawyer during his time in Washington; I would like to be that secondary advisor. I have over a decade of experience working in Washington, providing legal services to members of our Congress in particular— I would love to put my skills to good use by helping Mr. Guerrero through his first term as Senator. Please pass this information along to Mr. Guerrero, and let me know how he feels about the arrangement. I will be in Washington starting December 5th, and would like to set a date to meet with you both, if you are interested in hearing what I have to offer._

_Respectfully,_

_Zuko Wang_

_Attorney_

_Wang Legal Group_

Jet looked up from the computer screen, eyebrows arched in confusion. 

“I don’t see the issue. Isn’t it good that people are interested in being part of my team? It means my reputation in Washington hasn’t gone to complete shit just yet,” Jet said. He pushed the laptop back over to Longshot, who looked uneasy. 

“I don’t know. Something about this one feels… _off,_ ” he said. He stuck his face closer to the screen, scanning over the paragraph again, eyes narrowed.

“Everything feels ‘off’ to you, Longshot. No offense.”

“Junayd,” Longshot said under his breath.

“Yeah? What is it?” Jet asked.

“No, no, not like that. _Junayd_. He called you Junayd,” Longshot said, pointing to the word. “How could he possibly have known that Jet is a nickname?”

“It's on the public record, I guess. So what? He did his homework.”

“ _Exactly,_ ” Longshot responded. “What reason does he have for researching you if he doesn’t even know you’re going to agree to meet him yet? It’s suspicious.”

It was then that Smellerbee shuffled into the kitchen with her pink bunny slippers. She had a can of RedBull in one hand and a legal pad, filled with messy notes, in the other. She sat down between the two men with a yawn, looking slowly back and forth between them as if trying to decipher what was going on.

“What happened?” Smellerbee finally mumbled.

“We’re going to meet with a lawyer when we get to D.C.,” Jet said. “He emailed Longshot about wanting to represent me.”

“It’s all wrong,” Longshot added, frustrated. “This one is too slimy for you, Jet. Trust me. We went to school with some of these ‘big city lawyer’ types, remember?”

“Of course I remember. We’re just not 22 anymore. The guy is clearly just trying to be professional.”

Smellerbee took the laptop from Longshot groggily, reading over the contents of the email for herself.

“Zuko Wang from New York, huh? I wonder if there’s any relation with the Senator Wang. Not likely with how common the name is, but it's a funny coincidence.”

“See? It might be a setup. I don’t like anything about this,” Longshot said with a huff.

“Listen, let’s hear him out. We’ll meet up with Zuko and see him face-to-face before we decide if he’s suspicious. Yeah?”

“Fine,” Longshot groaned. Smellerbee pat him on the shoulder with a knowing smile. 

* * *

The bag forming under Zuko's right eye was beginning to resemble a bruise, deep creases of blue and purple on an otherwise pale face, illuminated by the light from a rising sun out of his 42nd-story window; the effect was exaggerated by the ruddy hues of the charred skin surrounding his cloudy left eye, preventing it from developing the same sunken-in appearance. He had stayed late at the office the previous night to finish work on an ongoing project for an important client, only to get home and realize that he still had hours of research to do for his father. Spending the early hours of the morning, when he could be sound asleep, reading into the life of a man whose very name now frustrated him was aggravating at best, and torturous at worst. Zuko had a tendency to see the worst.

He had learned more than he ever wished to know about _Jet,_ the wide-eyed socialist from the Rocky Mountains who was just over a month away from being chased out of Washington by a horde of bitter career politicians. The thought of it felt like poetic justice, in a way, for all of the work Zuko was putting in. All of the pictures and documents he had to sift through to make sure he knew his target. _Look at that idiotic smile. Who does he think he is?_

After four hours wasted on the man— hours he’d never get back, Zuko reminded himself— he knew the following:

‘Jet’ was actually named Junayd. Why he didn’t go by that, Zuko had no clue, but he suspected it had something to do with the name being Arabic. Was Jet Arabic? The last name Guerrero seemed to imply otherwise, but Zuko couldn’t find any family online to confirm his theory. The lack of family was explained by the records he found from Jet’s time in foster homes; apparently he had moved from house to house for a while. He had a degree in political science from a community college near his hometown and went on to get his law degree from a state school. That surprised Zuko. Why wasn’t he doing his own legal work? It didn’t make sense. The paper trail nearly disappeared after Jet’s time in university, only to resurface when he announced his run for Senator a year prior, much to the amusement of local newspapers. Zuko wondered if his small town appreciated their most famous citizen being a PR nightmare.

He was half-asleep at his desk when he got a text from Mai.

_[5:01 AM] Mai: I saw you were awake all night again. You need to learn to hide the fact that you’re online. Ty Lee and I brought coffee. Tell the front desk to let us in before it gets cold._

Zuko scrambled to call them in, jolting up and rushing to put on semi-presentable clothing before his girlfriend would arrive on his floor. It was just as he threw sweatpants on over his boxers that there was a knock on the door. 

“Just a second!” Zuko called out as he raced across the apartment to answer it. He was met with Mai and Ty Lee on the other side of the threshold, both dressed for work— Mai in her dark red cardigan and sensible pencil skirt, Ty Lee in her fun pink dress. Zuko never quite understood how the two women were best friends despite their extreme differences. Mai raised an eyebrow at Zuko’s sloppy appearance, while Ty Lee rushed in to hug him.

“Good morning, Zuko!”

“Oh, uh… Morning, Ty Lee,” Zuko said, still not fully awake.

Mai shut the door gently behind her as she followed Ty Lee inside, setting their coffees down on the living room table. The other two joined her, Ty Lee sitting next to Mai, who slid Zuko’s drink to him.

“No cream or sugar. I know how you like it,” she said. Zuko smiled.

“Thanks, you guys,” he said. Mai hummed in acknowledgement.

“So what were you doing up all night?”

“What I’m always doing. Working,” he answered without skipping a beat. He didn’t know how much they knew about Ozai’s secret project.

“Azula did say you’ve been busy,” Ty Lee added. “I hope you’re not overworking yourself.”

“No, I’m alright… I should be asking how you two are holding up. Have you slept at all since Azula got reelected?”

“We’re used to her schedule by now,” Mai responded. “It hasn’t been much busier than usual, and the campaigning events are finally over. I’ve honestly had a lot more free time.”

Ty Lee nodded. “I’ve started going to a capoeira class here in New York, but it’s so expensive! Hopefully I can find a cheaper one in D.C.”

“Oh, yeah… I’m coming to Washington with you all this year. I don’t know for how long. Did Azula tell you?”

Mai looked a bit surprised at that. “No, she didn’t. Why? Don’t you have work here at the firm?”

“I’m not taking new cases anymore, so I’m just trying to finish up the ones I have now. It’s why I’ve been working overtime. I’m taking on a new client in D.C. and I have a feeling that he’ll need my full attention.”

“And who is this _mysterious_ new client?” Mai asked, her voice tinted with sarcasm.

“Well, I’m not sure if I can say yet. But he’s on Capitol Hill. I’ll probably be seeing you two much more frequently.”

“Ooh, that’s so exciting! Mai and I can show you all around our favorite parts of the city!” Ty Lee said with a little clap of her hands. Mai’s gaze was focused on Zuko for a moment, eyes intense, but she said nothing. He swallowed hard.

“Yeah, that should be nice. I haven’t been in so long— I’m sure everything’s changed,” Zuko said.

“You could say that,” Mai said, looking down at her nails. They were shorter than usual, Zuko noticed, but still painted a deep purple that brought out her best features and matched her bold makeup. Only Mai could get away with such a gothic look while working for the government; Zuko had a theory that her superiors were too intimidated by her dark personality to correct her.

“I’m looking forward to it. I’ve been in New York for too long,” Zuko said. “I think going at a slower pace for once would do me some good.”

“Slower?” Ty Lee asked with a smirk. “Zuko, you make it too obvious that you don’t work on the Hill.”

* * *

  
  


Jet was scheduled to speak at a community gathering later that day— a harvest celebration being hosted a few towns over for the farming community in the area around the San Luis valley. The agricultural workers of the region hadn’t had very many opportunities to speak with the strange Senator-elect that supposedly grew up nearby; most of the campaigning had been done in Colorado’s urban centers, with the majority of the voting population. Smellerbee thought it would be a good idea to reach out to the locals after Jet’s disaster interview the previous week.

The trio spent most of the day wandering around the event grounds, intermingling with local farmers and trying to introduce them to Jet. Most people were curious about him— Smellerbee kept him on a tight watch and made sure he didn’t talk communism one-on-one. It was too inconvenient, she said. Save it for his speech. He complied, having learned his lesson from the interview, and spent his time instead talking about his childhood in the area. He didn’t mention the awful parts. For a day, and for the locals, he was a happy small town boy who had lived the same idyllic country lifestyle that they had. He reminisced about cattle drives, potato harvests, and watching the clouds roll over the mountains from an old wooden porch; elements of the culture he had experienced broke and alone, but could relate to nonetheless.

Longshot thought it was endearing how his eyes lit up talking about the Rockies, or his short-lived experiences as a cowhand when ranchers would come through from Texas and New Mexico. Having grown up in Hanoi, and then Denver, Longshot didn’t understand Jet’s nostalgia for the ways of the west, but he tried his hardest to encourage it.

When it came time for Jet to give his speech, sundown was quickly approaching. He was led to a stack of hay bales and given a wireless microphone, a small crowd gathering around to hear what he had to say. In a way, it was more nerve wracking than talking to Joo Dee— these people were who he was actually supposed to be representing. Smellerbee and Longshot faded into the background, trying to give him their best smiles. _So far, so good— don’t fuck it up now._

“Hey, everybody,” he started, trying to sound as excited as possible. There were some well-meaning laughs from the crowd. “If you haven’t heard by now, I’m your next Senator, Jet. It’s so great to be back in the valley, you know. I was worried I would get too used to Denver,” he joked, making eye contact with Smellerbee, who gave him two thumbs-up. _You’re doing great._

Jet cleared his throat and continued.

“What I really want to talk to you guys about today is what I want to do for the community here in Alamosa— the rest of the state, too, but I especially want to speak with you all,” Jet said. “I know most of you probably didn’t vote for me— no hard feelings, by the way,” he added, which again got a laugh from the audience. 

“I think sometimes people in this part of the country hear the word _communist_ and immediately close off, so I’m here to tell you a little about my platform and help those people realize that ‘communist’ isn’t a dirty word.”

He stood up, boots crunching softly in the scattered hay.

“I promise you all that I want what’s best for our working class families, just like you do. So let’s talk politics for a second. For me, at least, I feel like the foundation of a strong country is the wellbeing of its people. I’m going to Washington to make sure that everyone here has access to healthcare, no matter what your situation is. I mean, who here has honestly been screwed over by their insurance? Or their boss? Any healthcare provider?”

Jet watched as nearly every hand in the crowd was raised.

“That won’t happen anymore under my system. The government is gonna start paying those people for you because I’m gonna force them to care about what happens to the ‘little people.’ Same thing goes for education. I’m sure a lot of you are parents— your kids’ schools are chronically underfunded because of dirty career politicians making promises they don’t keep. They’d rather spend the funding on more missiles to aim at other people’s kids halfway across the planet. I’m gonna bring that money back home,” Jet said. He locked eyes with his campaign manager again; she nodded.

“We’re also gonna make sure you farmers get properly compensated for growing the food that the rest of the nation eats. The government should be encouraging you all to produce more food, not forcing you to lose money by playing russian roulette with your harvest while giant corporations profit. You’ll all be able to go back to small farming, too. I’m gonna protect you from big monopolies like that trying to take advantage of your hard work. Maybe this all seems like common sense— and it is— but the people in D.C. need to be told that, apparently. They need me to make them consider your livelihoods over their bank accounts.”

There was a brief pause before Jet continued.

“I’m really looking forward to serving you all as Senator for the next two years; this is all I’ve ever wanted to do, to give back to the communities that raised me. I would be extremely grateful to have all of your support while I’m out east. You guys are what I’m doing this for. Our working class, our farmers, our communities of color. You’re what matters! If it takes a communist on Capitol Hill to get the change you need, well… I guess I’m asking you to support a communist. Thank you all for letting me speak today. I’m so overjoyed that I got the opportunity to be back here talking to the people I love before I head to D.C. If you want to know anything more specific about what I talked about tonight, or if you have any other questions, me and my team will be around for a little bit longer and I’ll be happy to give you my information. Thank you,” he said, handing the microphone off to the event organizer. 

He hurried away— maybe a little too quickly, but he wasn’t thinking about that. He just wanted to know how he did. He rushed over to where Smellerbee and Longshot sat as the crowd dispersed, returning to their activities.

“So? How was that?” Jet asked anxiously.

“Honestly? Not awful for improv,” Smellerbee told him. “A little rough around the edges, but it’s definitely getting better. We’ll keep practicing.”

“I think you kept it just casual enough to seem friendly, but not too patronizing,” Longshot added. 

“You think so?” Jet sighed. He was _still_ nervous.

The other two both nodded, Smellerbee clapping Jet on the back and playfully shaking him.

“Congratulations, Mr. Senator. You just delivered a speech successfully.”

  
  


* * *

“Zuko… are you sure you’re going to be alright tonight?” Mai had asked on her way out of the apartment that night as she put on her shoes, worry rising to her face. Zuko had peeked around the corner to make sure Ty Lee was out of earshot before he responded.

“I’ll be fine. It’s been awhile since I had an episode,” he had said. It wasn’t a total lie; it had been a few weeks.

“Well, you know you can always call me if it gets too bad, yeah? Don’t try to suffer through it alone. I’ll come over at 3 AM if I have to,” she said. 

“Thank you… I’m just going to head to sleep,” Zuko said. “You should, too.”

“I will,” Mai said, kissing him on the cheek, leaving a burgundy stain the shape of her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mai.”

Zuko loved her more than he had ever loved anyone else, but at the moment it was hard to not be angry with her. He knew she meant well. She didn’t mean to trigger an episode. But she did, anyways, just by mentioning it.

He was tired, shuffling into the kitchen to make himself something to eat before bed, but when he put a pot of water on the stove he felt his chest begin to tighten.

The apartment was dark and quiet. Too quiet. Zuko was suddenly acutely aware of everything going on around him— the stiffness of the air, the slight contact between his fingers and the palm of his hand, the feeling of his socks against his feet. And the boiling water. The heat radiating off of it made him sweat, backing up against the wall to keep out of range as if someone were going to pick up the pot and throw it at him again, just like when he was 13. He watched it from the other side of the kitchen, bubbling as if it was taunting him. As if the pot of water knew he was afraid.

He didn’t dare move, frozen in fear and feeling all of these _sensations_ that he knew normal people overlooked. The uncomfortable grip of his clothes against his body making his newfound claustrophobia all the more stifling— were the walls closing in on him? 

He thought about calling Mai. _No. She won’t get it. They already think you’re crazy._

Instead Zuko slid down against the wall, sitting on the floor and opening the top two buttons of his shirt. He inhaled deeply and blew the air out slowly, counting internally to ten. It was a strategy he had been told to use in therapy, back when he still showed up to appointments.

_One, two_. He could still hear the water bubbling. Thinking about it just made it more obvious.

_Three, four_. The room was going to keep heating up.

_Five, six._ Any minute now the water would boil over.

_Seven, eight._ How long until it started a fire?

_Nine, ten._ Is this how Zuko was going to die?

The logical part of his brain knew it wasn’t, but he wasn’t thinking logically right now. He crawled over to where he was within reach of the stove and turned it off, sinking back down to the ground as he listened to the bubbling sounds fade away. He began to cry, the pent-up emotions spilling out of him all at once.

_How fucking pathetic. You’re a grown man crying on the floor. You had a panic attack over a pot of fucking water. It’s good you didn’t call your girlfriend— imagine how useless you look right now. You can’t even make dinner for yourself without breaking down. Worthless._

Zuko was alone with his thoughts as he sat sniffling on the floor, not sure when he would allow himself the dignity of standing up.

  
  



	5. Old Friendships

Weeks had passed since Zuko’s episode, but he was still reeling from it, lost in thought as he stared out of the tiny plane window. It was December now, and snow covered the terrain below on the flight from New York to Washington D.C. They were flying business class, Zuko’s hand in Mai’s as he watched the towns underneath them slip by— never getting a good, hard look at anything in particular. It was probably for the best that he didn’t get the chance to think about the lives of the tiny people inhabiting all of those houses.

Mai had dropped by the morning after Zuko’s breakdown, her gut telling her that she needed to check on him, and she was right. She found him passed out on the kitchen floor in his work clothes, a pot of water sitting untouched on the stovetop, and she knew immediately what had happened. The two had been spending much more time together since then, Mai keeping a close eye on him to make sure he didn’t do anything he would regret. Zuko was thankful, in a way, for the constant scrutiny, grateful that _someone_ picked up on the little cracks in his façade. That someone cared. Their eyes met whenever Zuko glanced down the aisle at Azula and Ty Lee, but they said nothing. They didn’t have to.

The flight was only an hour, and Zuko drifted through the airport in a haze, following the three women he was traveling with through the terminal. Azula had arranged for a limousine to pick them up, with an intimidating black exterior and thick doors that made Zuko realize the car was armored. Ty Lee helped their driver to load their luggage into the trunk before sliding in next to them.

“Take us to the address I gave you,” Azula told him, careful to avoid mentioning that it was her house. “It’s in Georgetown.”

The driver nodded before rolling up the partition, granting them privacy. Azula leaned back and closed her eyes, rubbing her temple.

“We should be there in less than an hour,” she said. “Hopefully he knows his way around the city.”

“I imagine it would be hard to be a professional driver without knowing your way around the city,” Mai said. Azula chuckled.

Zuko hated that he could barely see outside, most light blocked by the dark window tint. It almost felt like night time inside the car.

“Zuko, have you found a place yet?” Ty Lee asked. “Or are you staying with Azula?”

“I have a hotel reservation starting tomorrow night,” Zuko answered, pulling back from the window. “I don’t expect to be here longer than a month or two, so I didn’t bother finding somewhere to rent.”

“Aw, why didn’t you say something? You could’ve stayed with me and Mai,” she said with a little pout. 

“No, it’s alright. I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he explained. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to bring work home with me, which I inevitably would have. My therapist told me to try to keep those things separate, you know?”

Azula rolled her eyes. “Zuko, aren’t you getting a little old for that? Work is a part of life,” she said. “If you aren’t bringing your work home, you aren’t doing a good job. At least that’s what I think.”

“Dr. Hong seems to think it’s part of the reason I’m so stressed, so I’m going to try it out for a bit, even if it does mean I’m not doing as good of a job. Besides,” he laughed, “I’m sure Chan can pick up the slack.”

“At least he’s still at the firm. I don’t think you’ve even told us why you’re in D.C. yet,” Azula said flatly. “There’s no need to be so secretive, Zuzu. Who would we tell?”

Zuko shook his head.

“You’re too close to him. It’s a violation of contract,” he said. Azula raised an eyebrow.

“So he’s in Congress, huh? Interesting,” she said, looking down at her hand. Her nails were painted a striking red that went well with her pantsuit. “Well, Zuzu, I hope your new Congressman friend doesn’t step too far out of line. You know how daddy feels about people interfering with my work.”

Zuko nodded. “I know. I have confidence that I’ll be able to lead him in the right direction.”

“Good. Just make sure you sway him in my favor while you’re helping him silence his bastard child,” Azula said, earning strange looks from the other three. 

“Oh, what? Come on. That’s always what it is with Congressmen,” she added. “Don’t be such children.”

Azula reached over to a hidden compartment and pulled out a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon, pouring a glass of the champagne and handing it to Zuko.

“Champagne, Azula?” Ty Lee asked. “Isn’t it early?”

“It’s never too early for champagne in good ol’ Washington D.C.,” Azula said sarcastically, passing Ty Lee her own glass. “Drink up, ladies. I want to be tipsy when we get to my place. I can’t stand it here.”

Zuko watched the bubbles in his drink cling to the sides of the glass, tiny sparkles of silver trapped in an endless sea of gold, rising to the top before popping suddenly out of existence, a Greek tragedy on the smallest scale. He almost felt bad for them.

* * *

“It’s so much _bigger_ than I thought it would be,” Jet mumbled in awe, staring up at the dome of the U.S. Capitol Building— his new office. The gleaming white columns stretched on for what seemed like miles, ending on either side of the building in Congressional chambers that looked more like full-sized courthouses. He would be going to work in the Northern chamber— the Senate— in a matter of weeks. It was almost too crazy to be true.

The building and its surrounding gardens represented everything Jet hated about America: elitism, whiteness, the hoarding of wealth in the upper echelons of society that kept the majority of the people below waiting for miracles that would never come. But also, in a way, Jet’s very presence on the steps of the Capitol Building was a miracle. Standing in the shadow of the great domed giant, Jet found himself feeling like a little boy again, feeling so helplessly _small._ He didn’t belong here.

The sensation of a hand on his shoulder broke him from his trance, and he looked over to see Longshot smiling gently up at him. With Jet’s attention, he began to sign. 

_How do you feel?_

“Honestly?” Jet asked. “Terrified. I can’t believe we’re actually here.”

_You’re going to be fine._

“I know,” he said. “It’s still scary.”

_I’m going to be right here the whole time._ He paused, breaking eye contact before signing again. _Bee will be here, too._

Jet looked away, trying to focus on something else, anything else. A soft hand— a hand he was too familiar with, whose every detail he knew down to the creases of the palm— intertwined with his. Longshot held him tightly. He didn’t pull away; the rest of the world faded into the background, and like magic everything was back to normal. They were 23 again, stupid kids, madly in love and nothing had ever gone wrong between them. For a moment they could play pretend, holding hands like Longshot used to tell him they would do at the altar on their wedding day, the clasp of the other man’s fingers feeling somehow more intimate than the exchanging of vows. Those vows had never been written, but Jet understood every word of them. He was quiet for seconds that felt like an eternity, letting Longshot mourn what could’ve been. Although he would never admit it, he was mourning too.

“ _Jet_?” came a surprised shout from the steps of the building. Jet quickly yanked his hand up and away from Longshot’s, using his hand to block out the sun overhead so that he could see the owner of the voice. Clambering barefoot down the stairs of the Capitol Building was his old college friend, 

“... _Katara?”_ he asked, heart swelling with excitement. “Oh my god, Katara, is that really you?”

He went to meet her halfway, but Katara had already kicked off her high heels and was running down the stairs, nearly knocking Jet off his feet with a hug.

“You’re actually here!” she said excitedly, squeezing him tightly before pulling back. “I saw your win on TV and I legitimately couldn’t believe my eyes— I mean, no offense. But you’re here! I would’ve gotten in touch if I knew your phone number, but I’ve been so busy, and my father got sick so—”

“Woah, Katara, it’s okay! I’m glad to see you too, Ms. Ullulaq _,”_ Jet said with a grin. 

“It’s Dr. Ullulaq, actually,” she smirked. “I’m always gonna be one step ahead.”

“Wait… I thought you two hated each other,” Longshot interrupted. 

“Nice to see you again too, Lanh,” Katara said with a frown. “But since you ask, no, we don’t _hate_ each other. Maybe he’s an asshole, but it’s going to be nice to have him around, right? I still don’t have very many friends here.”

“Hey— I’m not an asshole!” Jet protested.

“Yeah, you are,” Longshot said bluntly. “I’m surprised she forgives you.”

Katara shrugged, smoothing down her hair. It had gotten a bit frizzy from running.

“We’re all grown-ups. Besides, I’m married now,” she said, showing them her ring finger. “It would be weird for me to be mad about my ex from college.”

Both men gawked at the ring, Jet’s mouth hanging open.

“What— when— Who’s the lucky guy? And why weren’t we invited?” Jet asked with a mock pout.

“I can’t imagine you two would know him, but his name is Aang. We met at a renewable energy conference a few years back, when I was still an intern. He’s the sweetest thing,” she gushed, “I can’t wait for you two to meet him. You know, you should come over for dinner tonight! We’re having a guest over already and we’ll probably have extra food. Is Sung-min around?”

“She’s out looking for apartments. We just wanted to drop by and scope out the Hill,” Jet said.

“Well, you should call her and ask. It would be amazing to catch up with you guys. Can you believe we haven’t talked in a _decade_?” she asked.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m starting to get grey hairs,” Jet joked.

“I’ll let Bee know,” Longshot said. “Here— let me give you my number. If you send us an address and a time we’ll be there.”

Jet paced in a circle as Longshot and Katara exchanged information, chewing on his toothpick.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun,” Katara said, reaching down to slip her heels back on. She put an arm against Longshot to balance herself.

“I’ve got to get to a meeting downtown,” she said. “Congressional stuff, you know. But we’ll hang out later and you’ll get to meet the family.”

She rose, no longer barefoot, and dusted herself off.

“Just let me know if you can’t make it, okay? I really have to get going,” she said as she gave the two men parting hugs. “It was nice to see you!”

“You too!” Jet called out as Katara hurried away.

Once she was out of earshot, now only existing as the vague outline of a person getting into a car, he turned to face Longshot, still in shock.

“We really are getting old, huh? The _family?”_

“She’s 31, Jet. It isn’t crazy for her to have kids. We’re late bloomers,” he said, sounding almost bitter. Jet didn’t press the issue.

* * *

Zuko stayed at Azula’s house that night with Mai and Ty Lee, and he had a guest room all to himself. He had retired early that night, faking a headache, but at this point he was actually going to develop one; he could hear the girls’ muffled laughter from downstairs as they joked about various coworkers over their dinner. Zuko now knew more about the secrets of various congressmen than he ever wanted to know. He rolled over onto his side, frustratedly pulling a pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the noise. When he found that he couldn’t, he sat up where he was, rolling the sheets to the side of the bed in a messy pile that was sure to wrinkle them. He would never hear the end of that, but it didn’t matter. He just needed to get out of this house.

He got dressed in silence, slipping downstairs and into the darkened kitchen where he could peek into the dining room. The three women were sitting at one end of a long wooden dining table; he didn’t think they could see him. He moved away from the threshold between the two rooms, creeping to the other side of the house and out the back door, grabbing his coat on the way out. He shut the door as gently as possible, not wanting anyone to come investigating if they heard the noise.

Once outside, Zuko quickly threw his jacket on, shivering in the cold. It had been snowing earlier that day, and the ground was fast asleep under a thick white blanket. Icicles had begun to form on the edge of the roof, flows of water frozen in time. Zuko warmed his hands, regretting not bringing gloves. He felt around in his jacket pocket before pulling out a little plastic lighter, cheaply made. It would have to do.

Zuko hesitated before striking a flame, himself frozen still like the icicles overhead. His therapist had suggested he try ‘playing with fire’ as a form of exposure therapy. He had originally assumed that Zuko’s fear of flame was a phobia. Zuko had bought a lighter after his session that day, keeping it in his pocket should he ever decide to use it. He never did; however, Zuko tried to tell himself, there was a first time for everything.

He very slowly clicked the lighter, a tiny fire immediately bursting to life, illuminating the area around Zuko. The snow and ice sparkled in the light, like glitter on a Christmas ornament. Despite his anxiety, Zuko couldn’t help but feel more at peace. He watched the flame dance in his grip, wavering ever-so-slightly with Zuko’s breathing. Zuko was feeling every emotion all at once.

He moved his thumb and the light disappeared, the world being swallowed in darkness again. It was cold and quiet. Zuko let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding in, sweating beading on his forehead.

That wasn’t _so_ bad. 

From behind him the door creaked open, artificial yellow light spilling out into the freezing blackness, the shadow of a woman painting the snow. He knew it was Mai.

“Hey,” he said flatly without looking up.

She sat down next to him, shutting the door carefully behind her. The two didn’t speak for a minute, just taking in the scenery.

“It’s pretty,” she finally said. “The snow.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”

“Are you coming back in anytime soon? We’re going to have movie night. Just like when we were little kids.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I came out here because—”

“You couldn’t sleep,” she finished for him. “I know.”

“...Yeah.”

“You know I’m worried about you, right? You haven’t spoken much all day,” Mai told him.

“I’m okay, really. Just…”

“Tired.”

“Tired is a good word for it.”

“I know.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. They sat in knowing silence from then on, watching as snow began to fall softly to the ground, piling up like paperwork.

* * *

“Are we sure this is the right house?” Smellerbee asked, checking her watch. “It’s been ten minutes already.” 

Longshot shot her a look that said _Yes, this is the right house! I got the address from her myself!_

They were waiting outside what was supposedly Katara’s house, a two-story family home located in the suburbs outside of Washington D.C. The house was a literal textbook image of middle-class Americana, a white picket fence outlining the property and a star-spangled flag hanging from the porch. Next to it was an Alaskan flag, along with another flag, probably foreign, that Jet didn’t recognize. He shuffled awkwardly behind the two, rocking on his heels. They _had_ been waiting for a while.

“It’s too cold. I’m gonna go wait in the car,” Smellerbee huffed, pushing past Jet and walking back towards the car for a moment before the front door of the house creaked open.

“Oh, hey! Come on in, you three! Sorry for the wait— There was a little bit of an incident getting the kids to bed, but everything’s okay now,” Katara exhaled, fixing her hair. She gave them each brief hugs as they came inside, taking a little longer to shake Smellerbee’s hand and ask her how she was holding up.

The other two took off their coats and hung them on a coat rack by the door, waiting for Katara to lead them inside. She pulled away from Smellerbee with a clap of her hands.

“Alright, follow me,” she told them, and they did as they were told. They were led to the dining room, where two other people— a bald man with a strange arrow tattoo on his head, and a shorter woman with jet black hair and cloudy eyes— already sat. The man smiled wide as they entered the room, standing up to greet them. He was a hugger, too; he and Katara were a match made in heaven. The other woman smirked, but didn’t look at the new guests.

“Aang, Toph, these are my friends from college: Jet, Lanh, and Sung-min,” Katara said, gesturing to each of them. 

“It’s so nice to meet you all,” Aang said, finally letting go of Longshot. Smellerbee tried to hold in her amusement. “I’ve heard a lot about the ‘good old days’ when these two were an item,” he playfully jabbed his wife in the shoulder. 

“Sugar Queen’s ex is here? The gay one?” Toph asked. Jet’s face went bright red.

“Did you tell them about that?” he asked.

“Uhh, Jet… _You_ told _everyone_ about it. Remember? That interview you did with Joo Dee?”

“ _What part of my platform, the communism or being a—_?” Toph recited before breaking into laughter at Katara’s glare. “Sorry, man, but you let the whole world know with that one,” she chuckled.

“Well… she isn’t _wrong_ ,” Aang said sheepishly. “But I liked how you stood up for yourself! I think that takes guts.”

“Oh, trust us. Jet has plenty of guts and no brains,” Smellerbee said, eliciting more laughter from the group. 

“Gosh, Katara, where are our manners? Go ahead and sit down, everyone,” Aang said with an excited grin. “I’ll be right back.” 

He left the dining room as the other three made themselves comfortable, Smellerbee taking the seat next to Toph, and Jet sitting on Katara’s other side. Longshot sat in between the two.

“He’s been cooking all day,” Katara said, shaking her head with a little smile. “I thought he’d get stressed when I told him three more people were coming, but you should’ve seen how happy he was. I hope you all don’t mind vegan food.”

“Sokka’s not here, so I don’t see an issue,” Jet said. Katara chuckled. 

“I’m surprised you still remember Sokka. You only met him, what, twice? 

Jet tapped his head jokingly. “I never forget a face.” 

“Ah, is that so?” Katara cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Toph leaned forward in her chair, looking over to where they sat, but not quite _at_ them. It dawned on Jet that she was blind. 

“I never forget a face, either,” she said. “They all look the same to me.”

The trio weren’t sure how to react to that.

“Oh, come on!” Toph whined. “It’s okay to laugh at the blind girl. Otherwise I think my jokes aren’t funny.”

Aang came back into the room carrying trays of food, one balanced perfectly on his head. Somehow he managed not to drop anything, setting it all down on the table without a second thought.

“Show-off,” Katara said, giving him a kiss as he sat back down by her side.

Snow began to fall slowly outside as the six talked and ate, the hours slipping lazily by. On their way home, the trio would talk about how nice it was to catch up with Katara, how good Aang’s cooking was, how funny Toph’s jokes were once you got used to her sarcasm. Smellerbee would make a comment about not seeing a ring around Toph’s finger, which Jet would pick on her about for the rest of the drive to their new place, full of nothing but unpacked boxes except for the sleeping bags they’d laid out on the floor before they’d left earlier that evening.  
  



	6. Hauntings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No illustration this time, sorry guys! Char has been very busy and didn’t have the time to draw. Please don’t be disappointed— they have a full-time job, too :(
> 
> TW: Mild paranoia, cigarette usage

Zuko arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes earlier than he had arranged to meet with Jet and his team, sitting at a table in a back corner of the dining room where no one would interrupt them. He had asked Azula beforehand which establishments she recommended for private business dealings, and she had spoken highly of the steakhouse’s refined atmosphere and privacy. Perfect for a Congressman who didn’t want to be seen meeting with a criminal defense attorney, she had added. He had reserved this table in particular to avoid eavesdropping waitstaff. Zuko’s attention to detail when it came to client confidentiality was something he prided himself on, after all— at least under normal circumstances.

Of course, these weren’t normal circumstances.

He found himself staring at his reflection in the wall-length mirror of the men’s restroom, adjusting and readjusting the pen sitting so innocently in the chest pocket of his suit. At his father’s instruction, he was to record every meeting between himself and Jet— the device had the capacity to hold just over 70 hours of audio that could be useful later. Zuko was convinced that somehow Jet would pick up on the listening device and storm out of the meeting, ruining the rest of his plans. From the research he had done on the hot-headed Senator-elect, he seemed to have no issue with leaving interviews in a fit of rage; Zuko could only assume he would do the same if their meeting took a turn for the worse. He couldn’t stop himself from constantly looking down at the pen to make sure it wasn’t obstructed, and had no clue how he was going to sit there and pretend he didn’t have a microphone in his pocket, but it was too late to back out now. 

Zuko left the bathroom as calmly as he could manage, trying to keep a low profile as he made his way back to the table. He watched the flow of people passing by the restaurant’s front window, hoping to spot the man, whose face he had memorized from sleepless nights of watching interview after interview, taking mental notes. In a way, he felt _overprepared._ The stage had been set, the props in place, and now all he needed was his leading actor. He adjusted the microphone one last time, tapping his fingers against the wooden table as he waited, anxiety growing with each passing moment. He looked up when he sensed the presence of other people at the side of the table, standing to greet them with the firm handshakes his father had always taught him to use when he wanted someone’s trust.

“Mr. Tiet, I assume,” he said, greeting Longshot. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person after all these weeks.”

Longshot gave him a closed-mouth smile before stepping aside for his colleague to introduce herself. He sat down to make room for them.

“Sung-min Bae, but you can call me Sung-min,” she said, shaking his hand. She was a sharp dresser, a fact which put Zuko on edge. She might be a professional, more likely to notice his strange behavior. “I’m Jet’s campaign manager; I’m sure Lanh mentioned me.”

“He did, yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Ms. Bae,” Zuko responded.

And then his eyes landed on Jet, who was much taller than he had imagined after watching all of his interviews over the past month or so. The man was scruffy, curly brown hair unkempt and stubble covering his chin, his hook nose and dark brown eyes sitting just beneath quite possibly the bushiest eyebrows Zuko had ever seen. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, but it felt deliberate, a stylistic choice rather than an indication of laziness or ineptitude. He was gorgeous in a way that Zuko couldn’t quite explain, didn’t _want_ to explain. Zuko didn’t want to think about Jet’s broad shoulders, his stupid smile that lacked any awareness of the lion’s den he was currently standing in. He just wanted to scream. _You’re being conned, you idiot! Don’t you pay any attention?_ Zuko must have been staring, because Jet took the initiative and introduced himself first.

“Hey, man, it’s nice to finally meet the face behind the name,” Jet said, sticking out a calloused hand for Zuko to shake. His grip was even firmer than his manager’s. “You alright?”

Zuko snapped himself out of his thoughts, accepting the handshake. “Yes, I’m alright… I apologize for that. I lost my train of thought for a moment.”

“It’s all good— happens to the best of us,” Jet said with a laugh. “Don’t get so worked up about it. This is a casual meeting, okay? I just wanted to get to know you before I agreed to anything.”

Zuko nodded. “Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing to the table. Jet sat down next to Longshot, across from Zuko, who ended up next to Smellerbee. Surrounded by the others, Zuko felt even more intimidated. He inhaled softly, bracing for the worst.

* * *

Longshot knew that look on Jet’s face— he had seen it many, _many_ times before, mostly when Jet looked lovingly at him from across a lecture hall back when they were together. He knew from the second that Jet met Zuko’s eyes that Jet was in love with him and would agree to anything this strange man requested of him without a second thought. Longshot gave Smellerbee a worried glance that he hoped she noticed, a signal that they were in trouble.

Jet, meanwhile, was enjoying the view. _Zuko_ , despite the scar that took up half of his face, was perhaps the most handsome man that he had ever laid eyes upon. His eyes, amber pools of honey that stared back at him so endearingly, conveyed so many emotions all at once. Zuko reminded him of the classic black-and-white movies he had grown up watching reruns of on TV; neatly combed hair, crisp suit, that _voice,_ raspy yet so addictive— Jet would ask him a million questions just to listen to him answer. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to reach out and kiss him, but knew that the other man wouldn’t return the sentiment. He watched as Zuko’s long fingers fidgeted with the pen in his chest pocket, probably a nervous tic. Jet was obsessed, following his every movement like scripture. He wasn’t a religious man, but he would not be shocked if someone told him that Zuko was an angel sent down to Earth to redeem him.

“So, Zuko— can I call you Zuko?” Smellerbee asked, which Zuko confirmed with a nod. “You want to be Jet’s attorney, right? Let’s go over your credentials. Did you bring a resumé that I can take a look at?”

“I did… Let me get it for you,” Zuko said, opening his briefcase. He handed her the document, an exhaustive list of his qualifications printed on thick white paper. Smellerbee took it from him and began to read.

“While she looks at that,” Jet started, “why not tell us more about yourself?” He was eager to learn more about the dashing young lawyer— maybe not for strictly professional reasons.

“What do you mean?” Zuko asked, confused.

“Just the usual introductory stuff. Where are ya from, what’s your story? I don’t think I could hire a stranger, you know. I’d like to get to know you better before I commit to anything.”

“Oh, well… I guess that makes sense. Well, my family is from China, but I was born and raised in New York. I went to school in Europe and came back to the U.S. for university so I could follow my uncle into law.”

“And…?” Jet prompted. He was looking for something more personal.

“What else is there to say?” Zuko questioned. Jet could tell by the look on his face that he was being legitimate.

“Okay, well, what’s New York like? I’ve never been,” Jet said.

“It’s fine. I like the views. It’s cold there right now, though, which is awful. I hate the cold.”

“Huh. Me too— That’s the worst part of living in Colorado, because it gets freezing there in the winter. Mountain weather is a bitch,” Jet said.

Smellerbee cleared her throat— _knock it off, Jet—_ and passed the resumé to Longshot, who took it from her with a less-than-friendly glance across the table at Zuko. The lawyer breathed in deep, and Jet swore he could hear him counting quietly under his breath. Neither of his friends seemed to notice.

Truth be told, Jet would’ve hired him without reading through his credentials. He trusted Zuko, and despite having only met him thirty minutes ago, he felt that he had good reason to trust him. Zuko’s proper, dignified exterior melted away as soon as he opened his mouth, revealing the lack of social skills that Jet could only interpret as raw. His awkwardness made it clear he wasn’t putting on an act. The only reason he didn’t immediately agree to hiring him was Smellerbee and Longshot, the latter of whom seemed especially wary of Zuko. 

“This is all very impressive,” Longshot finally spoke up. “Almost too impressive.”

Zuko chuckled at what he thought was a joke, only to realize nobody else was laughing.

“You have your Bachelor’s in Economics from Columbia followed by your J.D. from Harvard Law. You speak three languages fluently, and are registered to practice law in a dozen states and two countries. You’ve been a partner at a rather large law firm since you were 25 years old— forgive me for having doubts, Mr. Wang,” Longshot said, handing him the document back, “but it sounds too good to be true. How can all of that _possibly_ be true?”

Zuko adjusted his jacket, sitting up taller in his seat. He seemed to be deliberating something, hand covering his chin.

“Well, Lanh, if I’m going to be honest with you, it’s just a classic case of old money nepotism,” Zuko answered, taking his hand off his face. “I was lucky enough to be born into a family that could afford to give me opportunities like that.”

“And that made you want to help a socialist win reelection?” Longshot questioned.

“Yes, believe it or not. I never said it was _fair_ for me to have those opportunities as a boy. Only that I did have them,” Zuko said. “The bottom line is that I have unique skills to offer your team and the experience dealing with Congress to match. I’m a perfect fit for the job, if you’ll have me.”

He paused.

“Besides, the last thing I would want is for some little scandal to ruin your chances at reelection all because you didn’t have quality legal counsel,” Zuko said, meeting Jet’s eyes. The color quickly drained from Longshot’s face. It was a thinly-veiled threat that his colleagues didn’t seem to pick up on.

“I think you’ve made a strong case for yourself, Zuko,” Jet said with a smile. “Give us the night to mull it over and we’ll get back to you tomorrow afternoon, alright? Friday at the very latest. I’d hire you right now, no more questions asked, but unfortunately I _do_ have to talk with these two first,” he rolled his eyes.

“That… That’s it?” Zuko stammered. “Don’t you have other concerns?”

“Me? No. That’s their thing,” Jet said, gesturing to his staffers. “I’m sure they’ll be emailing you back and forth all night, but this meeting was to see if I like you. And I do! So, good job.” Jet stood up, stretching his legs.

“Jet, sit back down,” Smellerbee commanded through gritted teeth. He did as he was told. “I’m so sorry about him. He’s impatient. Of course we want to hear more about your work.”

Jet huffed, resting his head on a fist. Longshot cringed— he loved Jet, but sometimes he could be such a child. 

“Now,” Smellerbee began again. “Tell us more about your firm. You’re partners with your uncle?”

Jet sat bored for the rest of the meeting; his only solace was getting to stare at Zuko, the newest object of his affections, a laurel tree struck with a lead arrow. He had no chance, that much he knew, but at least he could admire the other man from a distance. 

* * *

That night, Jet, Smellerbee, and Longshot went to work finishing the last of the unpacking. The apartment, much smaller than Smellerbee’s house back in Alamosa, was cramped, packed full of three people’s belongings. There was only one bedroom— Longshot and Smellerbee, who would be there more often, had set up their beds there. Jet was happy to take the lumpy old couch; it was more comfortable than his mattress on the floor back home, he said. They finished their unpacking late in the evening, a thrifted floor lamp filling the apartment with a nasty greenish-yellow hue that flickered every few minutes. The appliances all made weird noises, buzzing sounds that Smellerbee swore would make her wake up and grab her pistol from the bedside table in the middle of the night, ready to stop an intruder. Longshot told her she was being paranoid, to which Smellerbee replied that she had already changed the screws on the door. He just laughed.

Now she was in the kitchen ordering takeout over the phone, the trio having decided that they needed to find the best cheap Mexican food in the city as soon as possible. Jet and Longshot sat on foldout chairs on the tiny balcony, the door to the apartment open so that Smellerbee could tell them when she was done. Longshot shivered in his winter coat as the two men sat in silence. Jet lit a cigarette.

“You want one?” he asked. “You look like you could use a smoke.”

“...Yeah,” Longshot said, letting Jet light one for him. He took it from him with a frozen hand, putting it to his lips and inhaling before breaking into a cough. Jet smirked.

“32 years old and you still cough every time. How have you never learned to control that? It’s only been a decade,” he teased. 

Longshot didn’t reply.

It was dark, and cold, and quiet, and it would probably snow that night while they were pretending to be asleep. The frigid air loomed over them like a shadow, flakes of ice drifting down and settling on the two men, close enough to feel each other’s body heat but not close enough to touch. Somehow Jet’s presence made Longshot feel even colder. He breathed hot air into his free hand, hoping it would blow back onto his face and warm him up. It helped a little bit. He would have to keep the dying flame of the cigarette closeby.

“What are we, Jet? Seriously,” he finally asked, eyes fixed straight ahead at the brick wall of the next building. He couldn’t look at Jet right now.

“What’s got you thinking about it?” Jet leaned forward after a pause, flicking ash onto the concrete.

“I’m not an idiot. I saw how you were looking at Zuko earlier.”

“So what? He’s attractive. Are you jealous or something?”

“Of course I’m fucking jealous. You used to look at me like that,” Longshot said, the last part almost a whisper. “Just— just forget it. Nevermind.”

“Longshot—”

“I said to forget it. Just forget I said anything.”

“No, really, Longshot, it’s okay! Let’s talk about it,” Jet said. Longshot looked over at him and sighed. He always gave in to those big brown eyes. 

“Fine,” he said. “I… What do _you_ think we are?”

Jet was silent for a moment— the answer wasn’t what Longshot wanted to hear. Longshot looked back down, waiting for the other man to figure out how he wanted to phrase his rejection. He took another drag from his cigarette. 

“I think we used to be boyfriends,” Jet answered carefully.

“...That’s it?” Longshot asked bitterly.

“That’s all I’m willing to put a label on, yeah,” Jet said.

“You’re insufferable, you know.”

“You love it.”

“I love it so much. I love it _too_ much,” Longshot said, dropping his head with a short laugh. “You’ve ruined me.”

“Probably.”

“Leave Zuko alone, then. For his sake if not mine. He’s too innocent for you.”

“He’s around our age, yeah? He can take care of himself. Besides, he didn’t seem interested,” Jet said. “He’s not gay.”

Longshot nodded slowly.

“Good. We need you focused on Congress,” he said.

“Is that all it is?” Jet asked. 

“No.”

Jet looked away, smoke floating like a ghost from his cigarette, vanishing into the night. That was all that needed to be said. Longshot turned to look as Smellerbee’s shadow appeared in the doorway, gently tapping on the glass door to let them know she was there.

“Food’s almost here,” she said softly. “You two should come back inside.”

She had probably heard everything and was choosing not to get involved. Jet stood and stamped out his cigarette with his boot, leaving a small pile of ash at his feet that would blow away with the winter wind. He went inside, sliding past Smellerbee into the apartment. Longshot waited a minute before he followed, cringing at his own stupidity and inability to just _shut up_. 

“Hey,” Smellerbee said. “Are you gonna be okay tonight?”

“Yeah,” Longshot lied. “Just give me a second. I’ll be in soon.”

“Okay… Don’t wait too long,” she replied, glancing at him one last time before she shut the door to keep the heat inside. Longshot had promised himself he wouldn’t cry, and thanks to the cold, he couldn’t.

* * *

Zuko went back to his hotel that evening by himself, still reeling from the meeting earlier that day. It wasn’t that it had gone poorly— it had gone well, actually. Very well. He was almost positive that he was going to get the job. That’s what frightened him about the whole thing. 

What happened after he got the job? He had a rough plan, sure, but it wasn’t much to go off of. All he really had figured out was that he was supposed to take Jet’s campaign down from the inside. Make him unelectable somehow so that he wouldn’t be a threat anymore. He felt for the pen in his pocket again, knowing that it now stored his first three hours of audio. They hadn’t admitted to anything that Zuko thought useful, but he would have to listen again that night, sitting at an unfamiliar desk illuminated by a small table lamp, taking notes on a spare legal pad he happened to have handy. It all felt so wrong. He had done his fair share of dirty politics in his time as a lawyer— working for Azula guaranteed it— but this was different. This time he was a double agent. He couldn’t think of anything else. He tried as hard as he could, but every time his mind wandered it returned back to Jet like he was lost in a perpetual maze. 

He had missed his floor, the elevator stopping three stories higher than he had intended. Shit. He pressed the button to go back down to his floor, but as the elevator door closed he looked out into the hallway and noticed that it looked exactly the same as his own. It wasn’t strange, by any means; hotel floors usually looked almost identical. This fact didn’t stop Zuko’s mind from wandering once more, straying further from his conspiratorial business practices and into the surreal.

What if each floor really was the exact same? What if, sitting in the 10th room to the left, on this floor, there was another Zuko— a shadow Zuko— at his desk, listening to secret recordings from a meeting earlier that day? He shuddered at the thought.

The elevator stopped on his floor again, and nobody else was waiting to come in. Zuko could have, _should have_ , gotten off right then, and went to his room to work. But he didn’t. He pressed another random button, this time six floors too high, and waited.

The hallway was once again the exact same. Zuko stared out at it for a moment, waiting for something to change. Something to indicate that he wasn’t trapped in an alternate dimension where he was the only person left alive. Maybe he had died on his way home and was in purgatory.

He pressed a different button. Two floors too low.

It was identical.

He was going to lose it if he wasn’t careful— he thought back to his medicine, waiting for him in a suitcase back on his floor. His psychiatrist wouldn’t appreciate a phone call this late, but he had her number on speed dial. He pressed the button for his floor, hoping against hope that someone happened to be standing on the other side of the door, to prove to him that he wasn’t crazy.

There was. An older woman and her son stepped aside for Zuko to exit the elevator, and he sighed in relief when he saw them. He hurried out, fumbling with the keys in his pocket, almost expecting to see a doppelganger in his bed when he opened the door. 

He swung open the door to his hotel room and flicked the light on. There was no shadow Zuko, and everything was just as he’d left it. What if this was a setup? What if they were watching him? Who were they? Zuko had no clue. He was being paranoid and he knew it, but he couldn’t shake his uneasiness.

He sat down to begin his work for the night, promising himself that he was _not_ going to call his psychiatrist. Zuko knew that she was telling his father everything, even though Zuko was a grown man. He didn’t need his father finding out he was still having delusions. That’s what the anxiety medication was for. 

He pressed ‘play’ on the recording device, notepad ready. He winced at the sound of his own raspy voice coming through the microphone.

_Mr. Tiet, I assume. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person after all these weeks._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. New Year’s Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! I had a personal issue earlier this week that stopped me from getting this done before Sunday :( Still uploading tomorrow, hopefully! Oh, and happy birthday Elena :D
> 
> TW: Smoking mention

Zuko didn’t hear back from Jet’s team until Friday morning. He got the email just as he was heading out for the day, checking his inbox one last time before he made the commute to his sister’s house. Tonight was New Year’s Eve, and he’d agreed to go to her party to celebrate the arrival of a new year. He made a mental note to come up with a resolution before that night, so he’d have something to tell people when he was inevitably asked how he wanted to improve himself in the coming twelve months. He would probably say something about his work; it was the easiest thing to talk about with Azula’s important friends and colleagues. He finished tying his tie, muttering to himself the instructions his father had given himself when he was a boy, and opened the email. The answer was going to be ‘yes,’ he was almost positive, but there was always a possibility that they had decided that Jet would be better off without him. They would be right.

_[From: Lanh Tiet (_ _tiet_longshot88@gmail.com_ _)]_

 _[To: Zuko Wang (_ _zuko@wanglegalnyc.com_ _)]_

_Mr. Wang,_

_After further review, we have decided to accept your offer. Jet is sworn in on Monday morning; be there. Sung-min and I will meet you afterwards to discuss further details of your employment and begin the appropriate paperwork. Expect to sign a non-disclosure agreement—_ **_all_ ** _of your work with Jet is to be completely confidential, including any financial counsel to which attorney-client privilege may not usually apply. If you have any questions, please note them for our meeting on Monday. Have a good weekend, and Happy New Year._

_Lanh Tiet_

_Communications Director_

_[Jet for Colorado]_

It was short and to-the-point, that’s for sure. Zuko got the feeling that the other man didn’t think highly of him— he wondered if that was because of their meeting earlier in the week. He had been aggressive with Zuko when discussing his credentials, and now his usual long-winded paragraphs had been reduced to a few curt sentences. Zuko made a mental note to be especially careful with Lanh; if anyone on Team Jet was going to suspect him of espionage, it was him. 

Zuko left the hotel in a daze, his body operating on auto-pilot and navigating him downstairs to the curb where he hailed a taxi. He nearly slipped on the icy slush left over from last night’s snowfall, cursing the weather as he slammed the car door. Inside the car it was warm, holiday music drifting from the radio despite Christmas having been nearly a week ago. Zuko settled into his seat with a deep exhale before giving the driver his sister’s address.

When he arrived at Azula’s house, he was greeted with one of Ty Lee’s bear hugs outside, barely comprehending her excited speech.

“Zuko! I’m so happy you made it! We were worried you wouldn’t show.”

“Uh… Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

She pulled away, taking his hand to lead him inside, a skip in her step.

“Chan even flew in from New York to watch the fireworks with us tonight,” she said as they stepped into the house, shutting the door behind him. She gestured to the kitchen, Azula’s notorious laughter streaming out— her and Chan must have been cracking jokes. Or, more likely, Azula was making jokes at Chan’s expense. “Are you excited? It’s your first time doing this with us in D.C.,” Ty Lee asked.

“I guess,” he shrugged. “I’m going to miss the view from the apartment.”

She pouted. 

“Sure, but you get to spend the night at the coolest party in the city,” she said, clapping her hands together. “All of our work friends are gonna be here, so you’ll finally get to meet them!”

“That’s nice, I guess. Uh… Do you know where Mai is?”

“She’s upstairs on a work call. You can probably go say hi, though,” Ty Lee answered. “Hurry back down when you’re done. I need your help setting up.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back,” Zuko said with a nod. He climbed the stairs slowly, listening in to hear what Mai was talking about on the phone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her— he did, truly— but she was always so secretive about her job. He was curious what she might be working on during a holiday.

_Nothing has changed … Yes, you still have her vote. Is the bill finished? … No, she can’t vote for it if Jeong does … I know you need a supermajority, but we control the Senate and half of the Republi— whose vote matters more? His, or Azula’s? … That’s what I thought. We’ll make it happen. Don’t worry. How much are you spending right now? … That’s not too much. It’ll be worth it when you get this thing passed. I’ll see you Monday, alright? Don’t call me over the weekend, because I won’t answer. Goodbye._

She hung up before the person on the other end of the line could wish her a happy new year. Zuko smiled to himself before climbing the last few steps— Mai, monotonous and cold to everyone but him. And maybe Ty Lee. His smile faded when he realized what exactly he had just overheard.

He knocked gently on the door frame before entering the guest bedroom, giving her a heads up that he was there. Her expression relaxed when she saw him.

“Ugh… Hey, Zuko. Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s alright,” he said, sitting next to her on the foot of the bed. “You work hard. It’s admirable.”

Mai sighed, letting her hair down from its usual style. She was clearly exhausted.

“It’s good that you decided to come. I can’t stand these things by myself. Sometimes it feels like you and Ty Lee are the only other reasonable people on the planet.”

“Maybe we are,” Zuko said, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. Mai shifted her gaze downwards, opening her mouth as if to say something but quickly closed it. Zuko didn’t ask why— he didn’t think he wanted to know.

* * *

  
  


Jet hadn’t slept the night before, spending the early hours of the day pacing around the apartment barefoot, a week since moving in but still not used to the new environment. It was too loud, for one thing. Jet was used to the quiet desert ambiance of rural Colorado, the whispers of the wind over the prairie grass. He missed the occasional howl of wolves in the mountains at the moon, bathing everything in a silver light that felt otherworldly. It was easy for Jet to believe in aliens when he was alone in a field, but in the bustle of the nation’s capitol he couldn’t distract himself with conspiracies anymore. Suddenly everything from before felt silly. He was a real adult with an important job in a strange new place where everyone had an opinion about him. It was a lot.

Longshot was the first to wake up, shuffling into the kitchen without saying a word to Jet, who was laying haphazardly on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. For a while, the only sound was the brewing of morning coffee, filling the room with the smell of dark roast. Neither of them acknowledged each other for what felt like hours, going about their morning routines— or rather, Longshot went about his morning routine— before someone finally spoke.

“I emailed Zuko about our decision,” Longshot said, not looking directly at Jet. He poured himself a cup of coffee and put the pot back in its place.

“Did he respond yet?” Jet asked.

“No. I didn’t leave much room for it. I told him to be there on Monday and to expect paperwork.”

Jet sat up to face Longshot.

“You and Bee are giving him the full inspection, huh? I don’t get what has you two so worried.”

“It’s standard procedure. You should know that. Or have you forgotten our study sessions?” Longshot said, maybe a bit too harshly. His hand moved to his face right after, and he inhaled. “God— I’m sorry, that’s not fair. I just—”

“No, I get it. It’s cool,” Jet said. He laid back down. Longshot sighed.

“Maybe my New Year’s resolution should be to learn when to shut up,” Longshot muttered.

“You don’t need any help being quiet, Longshot. That’s like me vowing to _start_ smoking,” Jet said.

Longshot smirked, secretly happy that Jet wasn’t mad at him. 

“So,” Jet stood up, going to pour his own coffee. He draped himself over Longshot’s shoulder, hoping to get a reaction out of him. “Katara’s place later tonight, huh? Should be fun.”

Longshot unraveled Jet’s arm, unamused. “Yeah, it should be. I liked seeing them last time,” he said. “I’m excited to meet her kids.”

“Ugh. You and your baby fever,” Jet rolled his eyes. “It’s shocking to me you haven’t settled down yet. Can’t find any other dudes who want to raise three kids as Marxists?” he teased.

“I haven’t been looking,” Longshot admitted. This was a subject he hadn’t meant to get into with Jet. “It’s not time yet. Maybe after you get settled here.”

“Don’t put your life on pause for me, buddy. I want to be a cool uncle before I’m too old to run around with your kids,” Jet said.

“You act like we’re 60, geez,” Longshot complained.

“We might as well be! 33 is super old,” Jet joked, pointing to a few grey hairs on the top of his head. Longshot snorted.

“Stop being stupid,” he said. “That just means you’re stressed. I promise I’ll have kids before you’re actually an old man.”

“Good,” Jet said, pleased with himself. “That way I get to be the best uncle on Earth. I’m going to let your kids break all of you and your husband’s rules when they’re at my house,” he grinned, jabbing Longshot lightly in the side.

Both men moved further apart when Smellerbee walked into the room, making sure to leave just enough space between them to pretend they were still angry. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it out loud— she’d talk with Longshot later.

* * *

  
  


At Azula’s house, the party was in full swing by that night, a gathering of all of her friends and acquaintances from the upper echelons of society; weaving through the house full of socialites, Zuko ran into countless politicians and lobbyists he recognized from his work with his sister. Each time someone noticed him, he had to stop and make small talk, steadily losing brain cells through conversation about the past year, the weather in Washington, everyone’s boring careers as soulless tools of the establishment. Zuko would be a hypocrite to complain about it, but he felt drained nonetheless. He tried his hardest to keep to himself, skirting around the edges of rooms as he made his way around the house, hands in his pockets. Midnight was fast approaching, and then everyone could go home. Or at least Zuko could. He had an excuse planned: he had an important meeting in the morning and had to wake up early. Would some people see through it? Probably. But it was believable enough to get him out of this mess as soon as possible.

He tried to quickly escape the living room, the center of the universe that revolved around Azula, but on his way out of the room he ran into Ty Lee. She gripped his hand wordlessly and drug him out the back door, unnoticed. She had always had a knack for that sort of thing. On the back porch, Ty Lee led him to a set of wicker chairs facing the horizon, Mai sitting in one of them. She waved at her boyfriend when he appeared with Ty Lee. Zuko remembered earlier that month when he had sat there alone and watched the snow glitter in the warm glow of his lighter. Mai had been there then, and she was here now. It was funny how she always found a way to insert herself into his most vulnerable moments— he appreciated it.

“Mai noticed you sulking and asked me to go get you,” Ty Lee said, taking her seat next to Mai. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright… It’s just so busy in there, you know? And everyone wants to talk about shit that doesn’t matter,” Zuko told her as he sat down in the only available seat. He rubbed his eyes; it had been a long day getting everything ready with Azula and her friends (not to mention her annoying husband) and the day was far from over, since everyone had to be up until midnight at the very least. If his excuse didn’t work, he might not get home until 3. 

“I told you earlier, Zuko, I hate these parties. You’re not alone in that,” Mai said.

“God, was that really earlier today?” Zuko asked. He could’ve sworn that happened a day ago.

“You really are tired,” Ty Lee said. “You’re still staying up for midnight though, right?”

“I don’t know. I’ll try. How much longer?”

“About another hour,” Mai said blankly. “Time flies.”

“Oh my god! One hour? I still haven’t asked you two what your resolutions are!” Ty Lee gasped. Mai laughed at how serious she was.

“I don’t have one,” she said. “Not my thing.”

“Come onnn, Mai. Everyone has one. There must be _something_ you want to do differently this year!” Ty Lee pleaded. “Mine, for example, is to find true love.”

Mai raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. 

“Well… I’d like to try harder to keep my work and personal lives separate from one another,” she said. “It feels like I’m always refreshing my email, even when I’m at home.” She paused. “And I’d like to take up yoga.”

Ty Lee giggled knowingly at that— not surprising to Zuko, considering the woman used to be a gymnast before she started working in politics. Maybe she was teaching Mai some basic poses. 

“What about you, Zuko?” she asked with a tilt of her head. Her ponytail bobbed back and forth with each movement.

“Uh… I guess I’d like to try fixing my relationship with dad this year. I think I have a real shot at it now,” he said. Both women went quiet, Ty Lee patting him on the back.

“I’m sure you’ll do it! Even if you don’t, he doesn’t deserve your time, anyway. Only strive for that if it’s what _you_ really want,” she told him.

“Yeah. I do want it,” Zuko said with a sigh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring down the mood.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The mood was already down. If anything, hating your dad makes me happier,” Mai said. “Better than talking about work for the billionth time tonight.”

Ty Lee nodded in agreement. She leaned back in her seat, sitting with her feet on the chair. It always shocked Zuko how flexible she was. The three were silent again, waiting for someone to work up the courage to say something interesting. They all knew they were putting on an act.

“Let me go get us some drinks,” Ty Lee said, standing up. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna say hi to Azula while I’m in there.”

“Alright, be safe,” Mai said as the other woman scurried inside. She chuckled at Ty Lee’s enthusiasm before turning to face Zuko.

“So,” she started, leaning closer to his seat.

“So…”

“What’s on your mind? I can tell you’re upset about something.”

“No, it’s nothing. Really. It’s just this project my father has me working on.”

Mai didn’t say anything, instead sitting forward in her chair and holding her head in her hands. “I don’t like that you’re keeping secrets from me. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”

Zuko looked away. “I know… I just can’t have Azula finding out.”

“That’s exactly why you should tell me,” she said. “You’d be surprised how much I keep from her.”

“Probably…” he paused before sighing. “It’s about the ‘mystery client’. He works with Azula.”

“You’ve hinted at that. What, is he a Republican? If he’s a Democrat, she’ll be manipulating him regardless.”

“Even worse. Independent.”

Her eyebrows shot up at that. “Well, that narrows it down. It’s the communist guy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It is,” he laughed softly. “The worst part is… I actually kind of like him. We met up and he was nice. Funny.”

“Sounds like you have a schoolboy crush on him,” Mai smirked. “No, but in all seriousness, I get it. I felt the same way about meeting Azula.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I did. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

Zuko nodded, looking out into the distance at the night sky. He felt Mai’s hand rest on top of his own, skin soft and cool. She hummed as if thinking.

“You know, Zuko, I’m really happy you told me.”

“Me too,” he said, a bit absentmindedly. He tore his thoughts away from whatever he’d heard Mai talking about on the phone. It didn’t matter right now. All that mattered now was that he could finally breathe around Mai again. They held hands, a small bit of warmth against the cold air, as they waited for Ty Lee to return.

* * *

On the other side of the city, Jet was spread out on Katara’s couch, watching his friends have an impromptu dance party to whatever sickeningly patriotic pop song was being played, waiting for the countdown to midnight. He didn’t recognize a single song in the past hour, but it was nice to see them having fun. The older kids— Bumi and Kya, as Katara had introduced them to the trio— were allowed to stay up that night, given they went to bed right after midnight. Although Jet would never admit it, it was nice to see Katara twirling her little girl around the room; he almost couldn’t believe this was the same person he’d known in college. He’d have to get used to ‘Uncle Jet,’ too. The living room was full of laughter and music, and he was glad that everyone was getting along after all these years, and that Aang was just as nice as Katara had insisted he was. But something felt off.

“Has anyone seen Longshot in awhile?” Jet asked, the realization coming to him. 

“He’s upstairs with Tenzin,” Aang responded, lifting his daughter onto his shoulders. “Apparently he knows how to get babies to sleep through fireworks, which Katara and I haven’t exactly figured out yet… third time’s the charm, right?”

“Yeah,” Jet said, standing up. “Hopefully. Let me go check in with him— I’ll be right back.”

He rustled Bumi’s hair as he left the room, catching a weird look from Smellerbee before heading upstairs. The noise from the living room was muffled up there in the darkness, a small sphere of light around the armchair Longshot was in, holding the sleeping baby. His eyes were closed, directing all his energy towards keeping the child calm, rocking him back and forth slowly, cradled safely in his arms. When he opened his eyes again and spotted Jet standing at the top of the stairs, the two made unbroken eye contact, Jet carefully moving over to stand next to Longshot.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“... Hey,” Longshot whispered back, stroking Tenzin’s hair. It was thick and black, just like his mother’s. Longshot looked at him like it was his own child he was cradling, not just a baby he agreed to look after for a few hours.

“... Earlier today…”

Jet trailed off, and the resulting silence confirmed his suspicions: Longshot hadn’t been looking for a man to start a family with because he was still waiting on _Jet._ Jet, the man who dumped him after a few years of playing house when they were still in their twenties. 

“Yeah,” Longshot said weakly, his voice still lowered. His eyes closed, as if he was trying not to look Jet in the face again. He knew that if he did, he would lose his composure— he wouldn’t be able to stop the tears from welling up and making everything worse.

“Well, I just came up here to check on you,” Jet said. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Longshot said. “Don’t feel like you have to stay up here. Go back and have fun with the others. I don’t mind.”

“I… Okay,” Jet said, not wanting to start an argument. “I’ll see you later tonight, alright? We’ll talk.”

“If you say so,” Longshot said. Jet took this as his sign to leave him be.

Heading downstairs, he stopped in the kitchen to grab a beer. Katara looked over at him from the living room, concern growing on her face.

“Hey, Jet, you’re back just in time! We’re talking about our New Year’s resolutions,” Aang said. 

“Oh, very cool. Well, what are everyone’s? Hit me,” Jet said as he returned to the living room. He didn’t sit down.

“Why don’t you guys go play for a bit? We’ll call you back over when it’s time for fireworks,” Katara said to her kids, earning a confused look from Aang. The two nodded and scampered off past Jet, who smirked as he took a swig of his beer.

“I just figured we might get a bit adult,” Katara said to her husband. He nodded slowly, understanding.

“It’s alright, we get it,” Smellerbee said, waving her hand. “I don’t know how I’m gonna get by without Bumi, though. He’s gotta be the funniest kid I’ve met in a long time. Speaking of which— Jet, how was Longshot?”

“He’s fine. The baby’s asleep. He said his resolution is ‘to be at peace with himself and his decisions,’ whatever that means,” Jet said. Maybe Longshot hadn’t said that explicitly, but it had been his resolution every year for the past five years. Jet figured it hadn’t changed. Smellerbee huffed.

“You think he’d come up with something else by now,” she joked. “But it’s a good one. Universally applicable.”

“What about you guys? What’d you come up with?” Jet asked.

“I’m going to try to spend more time with my family,” Katara said sheepishly. “I think I work too hard sometimes.” Aang nodded in agreement.

“I could say the same. I don’t feel like we pay enough attention to the kids,” he said. “It gets difficult when we’re both so involved, but we have to make time.”

“Well, that’s a good idea, then. Bee?”

“Considering the past two months? I’m gonna try not to kill you,” she said. “On a more serious note, I’m going to use my new salary to pay for bottom surgery.”

“Oh my god, Sung-min! That’s great!” Katara said, beaming. “I’m so happy for you!”

Smellerbee shrugged, but there was a smile on her face. “Thank Jet for getting us all new jobs,” she said. “Your resolution better be to kick ass as Senator, Mr. Guerrero.”

“Pretty much,” he said. “I think I phrased it as ‘stay true to my morals and serve the people’ in the shower this morning, but yeah. ‘Kick ass’ works.”

“Wow, look at you with the fancy wording. Did Longshot come up with that?” Smellerbee teased.

“Nope. I did it all on my own,” Jet responded, tapping his forehead. “Anyways… I think I’m gonna head out for a second, if that’s alright. I need a smoke break.”

It was a lie, but they would believe it.

“Are you sure? It’s almost midnight,” Katara asked.

“I’ll be back for the countdown,” Jet assured her. “I’m just feeling sick. You guys should bring the kids back in here.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, but nobody objected when he grabbed his coat off the rack and headed outside, beer in hand. He shut the door maybe a little too loudly, sitting on the porch steps, dumping his winter coat next to him. It was nice to feel cold sometimes. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” he complained, to God or the universe or whatever else was laughing at him up above. “Can’t you give me a break?”

Nothing descended from the heavens to answer him, so he looked for divine guidance at the bottom of his beer bottle. It suddenly tasted a lot worse, burning his throat as it went down. He winced. Maybe this was his punishment for ignoring the calls for him to settle down. Jet was convinced something out there wanted to see him married with children— but he wasn’t going to give in. He had bigger plans. Bigger aspirations. He was going to be in history books.

As fireworks began to burst overhead, the stroke of midnight creating a star-spangled backdrop to his one-man play, he wondered if the baby had woken up in Longshot’s arms, or if Zuko was on the other side of the city right now, looking up at the same colorful sky. He decided neither of those things were important.


	8. Close Encounters

Jet woke up on the couch Monday morning with a pounding headache and a deep pit in his stomach, having gotten only an hour of sleep after spending all night thinking about being sworn in when he woke up. He couldn’t help but think that he was going to undergo some radical transformation the second his eyes closed— that in some kafkaesque twist of fate he would go to bed as Jet and wake up as Senator Guerrero. The thought of it was horrifying; was it too late to back out? To cancel this whole thing and go back to Alamosa and pretend nothing ever happened? He realized it was too late when Smellerbee shook him awake, snapping in his face.

“Hey, Jet. Jet! Get up. This is the biggest day of your life,” she said.

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned. “I’m gonna fuck it up, Bee. I’m not built for this.”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up,” she sighed. “You’re gonna do great, everyone is going to adore you, and you’re going to tell us later about how much you loved it. Yeah? Let’s speak that into existence instead.”

“What time is it?” Jet asked, turning over to face her.

“It’s 3. We’re starting the day bright and early to make sure you’re ready.”

“One more hour,” he pleaded.

“What? No! Go take a shower,” she demanded, dragging him off the couch. He hit the ground with a disappointing thud that their downstairs neighbors would probably complain about later. Jet stood up and dusted himself off, grumbling obscenities as he made his way to the bathroom.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he stopped to take a good, hard look at his reflection— something he rarely did. He really  _ did  _ look like shit, huh? He grabbed fistfuls of his curly brown hair, hoping to smooth down the frizz, but he just made it worse. Leaning in closer, Jet could see every pore on his face, greasy and unwashed, the bags under his eyes heavy from days of sleep deprivation. He’d let himself go over the weekend, worrying about Congress, and Longshot, and Zuko, and everything else that could possibly go wrong in the coming weeks. Should he shave? No, it might look bad. He couldn’t look bad today: first impressions would be crucial if everyone was going to hate him from the start.

He must have zoned out during his shower, because he didn’t regain awareness of his surroundings until he found himself dressed and leaving the apartment, following blankly behind Longshot, Smellerbee holding the door. She shimmied into her scarf as she stepped outside— it was early January, and the temperature was well below freezing. It hadn’t snowed in a few days, so the ground was cold and hard, slick with thin sheets of ice. The three piled into Longshot’s car, Jet slowly returning to reality. 

“Hey, guys? Can we uh… Can we do something…  _ normal _ before we go?” Jet asked from the back seat. “Just one last time?”

Smellerbee and Longshot glanced at each other, Longshot then looking in the mirror back at Jet, who looked more nervous than he’d been in his entire life. A little smile grew on his face.

“You know what? Sure. Anything for you and those puppy dog eyes,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. “Let’s get breakfast.”

“Longshot…” Smellerbee started to warn, but she trailed off when she looked back at Jet, more nervous than she’d ever seen him before. She exhaled. 

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

Longshot took them to a Denny’s, cheap and grossly American and not a place for a Senator and his team to be eating out. It was perfect. They pretended like they were back in Colorado over stacks of warm pancakes, Smellerbee making sure Jet didn’t get anything on his only suit. He didn’t tell them how much he loved them, or how scared he was of the ordeal that lay ahead, but it went without saying. Longshot thanked God, or whatever it was up above that chose how his days went, that no one recognized Jet, making a fool of himself in a crowded diner just hours before his inauguration.

* * *

Zuko started his Monday properly in the hotel café, with a dark black coffee and his morning news feed. Overnight there had been a protest in Taiwan— something about Republic Day and the upcoming Presidential election— and his sister had sent him a link to the story. It didn’t interest him very much, but he was sure it grabbed Azula’s attention. She had always been more interested in electoral politics than he was. 

No, what interested him more was the other messages she had sent.

_ [6:03 AM] Azula: Are you coming today? I’d like your opinions on the newcomers. _

_ [6:04 AM] Azula: And your congressman friend ;) _

_ [8:17 AM] Azula: Uncle called my office, since apparently you won’t pick up. He wanted to speak with you. You’re 33. Answer your own fucking phone calls. _

Yikes.

His uncle Iroh was back in New York, the only remaining partner at the law firm in Zuko’s absence. Did something happen to him? Zuko found him overbearing at times, but wouldn’t hesitate to fly back to the city if he was hurt. No— he must be alright if he called Azula  _ just _ to ask for Zuko. He checked his missed calls, and sure enough, there were three from his uncle. He pressed ‘Return Call,’ running his hand through his hair as he waited for Iroh to pick up.

“Nephew? Is that you?”

He sighed in relief. “Yes, Uncle, it’s me. Who else would be on my phone?” he laughed. 

“You can never be sure these days,” his uncle chided. “You didn’t answer my calls earlier! How was I supposed to know this wasn’t your girlfriend calling to tell me she found you dead in your hotel room?”

Zuko groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. His next words came out a bit angrier than he had intended. 

“Don’t make jokes like that, okay? I’m fine. Just tired. I have to sit in on the Senate meeting today for a client and I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Why not?” Iroh asked, ignoring the tone in his nephew’s voice. “I thought you always liked seeing them in action.”

“It was fun the first dozen times— like watching a movie. Now it’s more like a chore,” Zuko said. “What did you need to call me about, anyway?”

“Can’t a man call his nephew just because he misses him?”

“Sure, but you wouldn’t have called three times if that was all it was. What’s going on? Do I need to come home?”

“No, no, don’t be silly,” Iroh assured him. “Your sister needs you there with her. I was calling to tell you that I’m leaving for Beijing tomorrow morning— for that big tech conglomerate with the silly name—”

“Mengxiang Group, yeah,” Zuko said with a sigh. “Be careful, alright? It’s state-owned. The last thing we need is trouble with the Communist Party.”

Iroh was silent for a few seconds, and Zuko could practically hear the cogs in his head turning to generate a response.

“Don’t tell me you’re not worried about that, Uncle. Didn’t you learn anything when you and father had to flee China? The party is dangerous,” he said. For a moment he nearly forgot that he was working for a self-proclaimed socialist. He’d have to keep this sort of talk to a minimum from now on, but his uncle needed the reminder.

“I don’t think they’re all that bad,” Iroh finally said. “They’re doing well for our country right now. So what if they’re communists?”

“I can’t believe you’re being serious,” Zuko rolled his eyes. “You must be going senile.”

“Maybe so,” his uncle replied. “On another note, Zuko, tell me, what do you want me to get you while I’m in China? I’ll be there through the celebrations this month.”

“That long? Who’s taking care of the firm?”

“I left it in good hands, don’t you worry. It’s my firm, after all! Don’t change the subject. What would you like your uncle Iroh to bring you back?”

“Uncle,” Zuko complained, “I’m not a little boy anymore. I’ve been out of school for 15 years.”

“Azula said the same thing,” Iroh grumbled. “Is this your father’s doing? Has he told you that you’re too old for presents?”

“I  _ am _ too old for presents. Just— do whatever makes you happy, okay? I’ll love it no matter what,” he promised.

Iroh grunted in disbelief, but he didn’t challenge his nephew. “Alright, then. I’ll call you again when I land at Nanyuan, okay? I love you! Don’t miss me too much!”

“I love you too, Uncle,” Zuko said. “Be safe.”

“As safe as I always am,” Iroh chuckled, ending the call.

Zuko finished his coffee in silence, staring absentmindedly at the table and letting himself get lost in the ambient sounds of the café, bustling with people. Some of them were salary men on their way to the airport, some of them were families with drowsy children, some of them were mysterious solo travelers like Zuko. He tried not to think too hard about any of them in particular.

* * *

_ I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God. _

They were words that Jet had practiced before in the bathroom mirror, mulled over in his head as he tossed and turned at night, and yet he was still shocked to be saying them out loud. He had somehow managed to stumble through the beginning of the ceremony (despite forgetting which hand was his right and which was his left) and now he was taking his oath of office. It didn’t feel real. Not a single second of the past month had felt real. 

It was obvious that his colleagues didn’t like him. By tenure they chose their seats on the Senate floor, and as the newest and youngest he was left with a pathetic position at a desk in the very back of the room, out of sight, out of mind. To make matters worse, he had been assigned to nonsense committees he didn’t want to serve on. Veterans’ Affairs? And what even  _ was _ the  _ Special Committee on Aging _ ? Jet came from a young district and a state with one of the lowest median ages in the nation. It didn’t make any sense to him for the first few hours, but after catching more than a few angry looks from other Senators, he got the hint. They didn’t like him being here. He had stolen a seat from an established Democrat held in good esteem by his peers. No wonder they looked like they wanted to throw him out of the nearest window. Jet almost wished they would.

As the proceedings for the day came to a close, he prepared to leave, gathering his belongings. It had gone horribly, his headache was growing worse by the moment, and all he wanted was to go home and rest. That is, if Smellerbee would ever let him rest again.

He was so caught up in making sure he didn’t forget anything that he failed to notice someone approach his desk. Unfamiliar knuckles knocked on the old wood, making him jump in surprise. When he looked up, he was met with the smirking face of a woman he recognized as Azula Wang— one of the Senators from New York. She was a big name in political circles, and Jet had gone to parties with his communist friends where he aimed darts at a picture of her face. He swallowed hard, opening his mouth to say something before she raised a hand to stop him.

“Don’t worry about the formalities,” she said, holding that same hand out for him to shake. Her grip was firm. “You can call me Azula. I just thought I should drop in to say hello. I’ve heard a lot about you, you know? We’re the two youngest liberals in the room, so I’d like to get to know you. We’ll be doing a lot of work together.”

Jet didn’t bother to correct her about him being a liberal. He shrugged, hoping he was coming off as nonchalant as he intended.

“That’s nice and all, but I don’t think we’ll be together too often,” he joked. “I’m the new kid in class, so naturally—”

“They stuck you with Veterans’ Affairs, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “And the  _ Special Committee on Aging _ . I think they forgot I’m 33.”

“That one could be fun for you. There’s no legislative power, but you get to talk about social security. Isn’t that your thing?”

“Sure, but I was imagining something a little more… Uh…”

“Influential,” she finished for him. “I felt the same way. I mean, I was never given  _ those _ types of committees, but they did put me on Homeland Security instead of Foreign Relations. I must’ve cried for a week,” she laughed.

“That sounds like a dream.”

“Yeah? I could probably pull some strings to get you upgraded, if you want,” Azula said.

“You’d do that for me?” Jet asked.

“Of course! Don’t be silly— it’s not a big deal at all. I trust you,” she said with a smile. “I think everyone was just hesitant to bring a third party Senator into anything important. I’ll have a talk with the majority leader tonight and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Wow,” he said in shock. “I mean— thanks? Thank you. That’s a huge help.”

“Before I ask, though,” she started, inspecting her nails. “You’ll be voting with us, right?”

“I… Yeah, usually,” Jet answered. “I think you align more with my beliefs than a Republican.”

“Perfect! That’s what people were worried about, after all. Now that I have your promise it’ll be easier to get you somewhere nice,” Azula said, kindness in her words. Maybe this day hadn’t gone as poorly as Jet had thought.

“You have to get going for right now,” she said, pointing towards the doors. “It’s almost your turn with the cameras.”

“The cam— oh, right. Thanks,” he said, clumsily shoving papers into his briefcase. Smellerbee would have his head on a platter if he missed the PR opportunity.

“It’s no problem. Have fun, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Will do!” Jet shouted, hurrying out of the Senate chamber into the white marble hallways of the Capitol Building. Jet glanced at his watch— shit, he had 5 minutes. He jogged as politely as he possibly could, hoping he wouldn’t mess up his hair too bad; then he’d  _ really  _ catch hell from his friends.

He made it just barely on time, Smellerbee heaving a sigh of relief when he appeared in the doorway and dropped his briefcase out of sight. They reenacted his inauguration for the cameras, since the press wasn’t allowed to be present for the real thing. Jet had been told to invite family, but he had none- instead, he stood unconvincingly proud between Longshot and Smellerbee, the closest thing to family he had. This time he remembered which hand to raise. 

Stepping aside to make way for another congressman, Longshot led Jet to an isolated corner of the room, Smellerbee following behind. He grabbed Jet by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes.  _ How did it go? _

“It went fine,” Jet said. “Started rough, but I made a friend or two. I think.”

“Really? Who?” Smellerbee probed.

“The only solid one is Azula— Wang, you know.”

“What? Jet, why  _ her _ of all people? She’s a hack!” Smellerbee seethed, and Longshot gave her a glare that told her to lower her voice. “What the hell happened in there?”

“She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, okay?” Jet sighed, dusting himself off as Longshot let go of his shoulders. “She’s having me moved to different committees. No more Veterans’ Affairs for me.”

Smellerbee raised an eyebrow.

“How can she do that?”

“Beats the fuck outta me,” Jet said, “but she can. She has connections that I don’t. All she asked was that I vote with them, which I was probably gonna do anyway.”

“I don’t like it,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t make promises like that, especially when we’re new here. We’re gonna get rolled.”

“Relax, Bee. I’ve got it under control.”

She exhaled, shaking her head as she regained the composure she lost during that conversation before handing Jet a folder.

“What’s this?” he asked, opening it to scan through its contents.

“Zuko’s paperwork. Longshot and I met with him to get it all sorted while you were in there. He still wants to talk to you one-on-one, though. Lawyer-to-client.”

“Shit, Bee, you could have mentioned that sooner. Is he waiting for me outside?”

“Yeah, but don’t feel bad about it. The guy needs to suffer more. He’s  _ loaded _ with cash.”

Longshot smirked at her comment, but said nothing as he handed Jet his briefcase. 

“I’ll meet you two back at the apartment, okay? As soon as I’m done with him,” Jet said.

“Good luck!” Smellerbee called after him as he took his briefcase from Longshot, stuffing the folder inside of it, and made his way to the exit. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

  
  


* * *

Zuko checked his watch again. It was just past 4 PM, and the sun peeking through the clouds overhead was causing the snow on the ground to sparkle in the light, the streets of Capitol Hill slick with ice. Where the hell was Jet? He was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago. Zuko’s heart sunk in his chest; had they figured it out? They couldn’t have… could they? They just had him sign all that paperwork— why would they do that if they figured out he was a double agent? Did his sister say something?  _ Was Jet mad at him? _

He was about to call Longshot when he heard Jet shout from the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Zuko! Sorry about that. I had no clue you were out here,” Jet said, slowing down as he reached the other man. He let out a long exhale, his hot breath forming a tiny cloud in the cold winter air. Zuko watched him curiously as he smoothed down his clothes, a bit rumpled from running. He was a disaster.

“It’s alright,” Zuko said. “This is off the books, anyway.”

“Really? You’re not gonna charge me for these hours?” Jet asked, caught off guard by Zuko’s generosity. Zuko shook his head.

“I just… You… I wanted to go over your first day in Congress,” he managed. He didn’t have the guts to admit that he wanted to talk to Jet again.

“Oh. That’s good,” Jet said, still in shock. “So what’s the plan? How long is this gonna take?”

“Not too long,” Zuko answered. “I just wanted to hear about your day. If we have any problems.”

“Let’s take a walk around the park, then,” Jet said, gesturing in the direction of the Washington Monument. Between them and the towering structure was a long pool of water, the Reflecting Pool, frozen over because of the January cold. Zuko shivered at the thought, but he nodded. 

They were quiet for a while, and Zuko found his eyes darting between Jet’s face and the ground. He tried to avoid making direct eye contact with the other man— it was probably the guilt of knowing that Jet was being tricked. That he was tricking Jet. The trees were bare, clumps of snow taking the place of leaves on their branches; Zuko could feel how cold the pavement was even through his shoes. Jet didn’t appear to mind the temperature, though. He seemed to be taking in the view of Capitol Hill, still in disbelief that he worked here. 

“So,” Zuko started, “how did it go?”

“Actually? Better than I thought,” Jet answered. “I half expected them to kick me out.”

Zuko chuckled a little bit, causing Jet to grin curiously. He couldn’t help but notice how charming the Jet’s smile was, a friendly expression that put him a little more at ease.

“What’s so funny?” Jet joked. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Zuko said, smirking. “I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised? Why’s that? You’re surprised they  _ didn’t _ chase me out of the Congress building?” 

“No, that’s not it at all. I’m surprised you thought they would. You seem so confident all the time.”

”I mean, thanks, but you’re sadly mistaken. I’m really anything but confident. Almost threw up this morning just thinking about showing up.” 

Zuko smiled softly, allowing himself to meet the taller man’s eyes, dark brown and filled with an emotion that Zuko couldn’t quite identify. 

“Well, I’m glad you did show up,” he said. “How was the networking? Make any Democratic friends?”

“God, I wish. They fucking hate me,” Jet said.

“That’s sad. You’re a nice person,” Zuko said.

“How would you know?” Jet asked, an eyebrow playfully raised. “We haven’t exactly talked much.”

Zuko was quiet for a moment, realizing that, of course, Jet hadn’t spent weeks researching him. He really didn’t know Zuko as well as Zuko knew him.

“Let’s talk, then. Maybe it’ll warm me up.”

“You’re cold?”

“Just a little, but it’s alright.”

“No, no, here,” Jet said, slipping his jacket off. He got behind Zuko and put the extra layer over him; it was oversized on Zuko, and the material was scratchier than he was used to, but it was warm.

“There. Is that better?”

“Sure, but what about you?” Zuko asked. Jet was left without a jacket— he must’ve been freezing in just his button-down shirt.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to mountain weather, remember?”

“Well… thank you,” Zuko said, looking back down. He should not be wearing another man’s coat, especially knowing that the man in question was gay— on the other hand, he really had felt on the verge of hypothermia. He decided not to take it off.

“You owe me, though,” Jet said, a sly look in his eyes. “You have to actually tell me about yourself now. No more avoiding it.”

Zuko drew in his breath and exhaled. What the hell could he say? ‘ _ Hello, Zuko here! My dad hired me to spy on you! No hard feelings though, okay?’ _

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Just not work. Your family, your hobbies… Something more  _ Zuko _ .”

“I don’t think I have very many hobbies,” Zuko said, pulling Jet’s jacket tighter around him. “I try to keep busy.”

“Oh, come on. You have to do  _ something _ . Do you read?” Jet asked.

“Sometimes,” Zuko admitted, trying to think back to the last book he read. “I finished  _ Atlas Shrugged _ recently.”

“I would never have pinned you as the type of guy to read Ayn Rand,” Jet said. “I’m really more of a Lenin guy myself, but to each his own.” 

“If I’ll be honest for a second,” Zuko said, “I really didn’t know what to make of it. It was a gift from my father. He said I could learn from it.”

“Yeah? It’s nice that you two are still close. Not a lot of people have that kind of relationship with their parents anymore.”

Zuko didn’t respond to that, his vision unfocused as he thought about his relationship with his father; it was anything but good. He could count the number of times his father had shown him genuine kindness on one hand— growing up as the unwanted child, the inferior child, had permanently damaged whatever relationship they could have had. Over the holidays he had spent his time trying to avoid the company of his family, and Christmas parties had meant ducking around corners and standing off by himself where no one could find him. Maybe in some alternate reality, where his fate as a disappointment hadn’t been sealed from birth, he and his father had the kind of bond that Jet seemed to think they had. Zuko could only hope.

“Hey,” Jet said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Oh— Yeah, I’m fine. I just lost my train of thought for a second,” Zuko said. He looked up at the sky, watching tiny snowflakes drift down to the earth, so caught up in the performance that he didn’t notice Jet staring.

Jet, too, lifted his head up to see the snow fall as they walked, and very hesitantly took Zuko’s hand in his. He was surprised to feel the other man’s fingers curl around his own; he didn’t dare move a muscle for fear that Zuko would pull away and force them to address it, didn’t dare speak a word for fear that Zuko would hate what he had to say.

It didn’t take Zuko long to come to his senses, leaving Jet’s hand cold and empty as he slid his own back into his coat pocket.  _ Jet’s _ coat pocket. This was all wrong, it was going too fast, it wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be happening at all. He took a step back from Jet and paused as he thought.

“I-I should go,” he said. “Lanh has my number, so just… just call me to talk about work later. I forgot I have another meeting.” 

“Zuko—”

“I have to go,” Zuko said, more sternly this time as he turned to leave. “Have a nice day. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

He couldn’t let this happen. He had a job, and a girlfriend, and a life waiting for him back in New York. Whatever this was— not that it  _ was _ anything— couldn’t be allowed to happen. He hurried away, keeping his hands into his pockets and trying not to look back at Jet, who was left standing confused in the middle of the park. Zuko hailed a cab to take him back to his hotel, and only then did he look out the window to see Jet in the distance, looking like a kicked puppy.

“... He took my coat,” Jet mumbled to himself, kicking the ground as he watched the taxi drive off. “Bee’s gonna kill me.”

* * *

Jet didn’t go home to the apartment until late that evening, hoping to delay the awkward conversation with Longshot and Smellerbee for as long as possible. When he stepped into the apartment, a small chime ringing to let them know that someone had opened the door, he went to hang his coat before realizing he didn’t have one on anymore. He took his shoes off and set them aside before shuffling into the apartment with a yawn. Regardless of how well it went, his first day in the Senate had been exhausting.

Smellerbee and Longshot were sitting on the couch watching a movie together, some horror flick that they knew Jet would hate. The apartment smelled like food.

“Hey, Jet. Dinner’s on the stove,” Smellerbee said, turning her head to face him.

“Oh… uh… thanks,” Jet said. Smellerbee’s brows furrowed, and she turned down the volume on the TV.

Jet went into the kitchen to have his dinner— Smellerbee had made them kimchi jjigae from scratch to celebrate a day gone well, and had left the pot simmering on the stove so it would be hot for Jet. He smiled softly to himself as he poured a bowl, turning to sit down at the kitchen table and nearly bumping into Smellerbee, who had quietly joined him in the little room.

“Jesus, Bee— don’t sneak up on me like that,” he said.

“What happened with Zuko?” she asked, getting straight to the point. He shrugged as he sat down, Smellerbee crossing her arms impatiently.

“You know… We talked about my day. Congress. He had to go, so he left,” Jet said. Technically none of it was a  _ lie _ .

“Right. So where’s your jacket?”

Damn. The woman was nothing if not observant.

“I let him borrow it because he was cold. He’ll bring it back to me tomorrow.”

“Mhm,” she said. She glanced back over at Longshot, who was still fixated on the movie (or at least pretending to be). She dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “You need to get your priorities straight, Jet. We’re here because you have a job to do, remember?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, mouth full of stew. Smellerbee huffed, and from the TV came the melodramatic sound effects of an 80s’ slasher film. Jet didn’t know how they sat through those things.

“Just keep that in mind,” she told him. It wasn’t really what she said, but rather what was left unsaid. Her silence spoke volumes, mostly about his obligation to keep their little friend group afloat, and his relationship with Longshot balanced somewhere between best friends and bitter exes. Messing around with potentially dangerous men threatened that delicate balance.

“I’m gonna head to bed after this,” Jet said. “I’m beat.”

“Good. Make sure you get some sleep,” Smellerbee told him. She started on her way back to the couch to rejoin Longshot, but stopped. She looked back at Jet again, meeting his eyes. 

“You know we love you, Jet. We just want what’s best for you and your career.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he said softly. “Thanks, you guys.”

“Don’t mention it. It comes with the job,” she smirked.

He finished the rest of his food in relative silence, the only sound being the clinking of his utensils against the bowl and the white noise of shrieks and screams from their movie playing in the background. 

When Jet went to bed that night, having kicked his friends off the couch, he laid awake for a while staring up at the ceiling. It was funny, he thought, that he had ended the day with more questions than answers about what laid ahead. As he slept, visions of star-spangled flags and bald eagles and liberty bells haunted his dreams, but the worst of all was the scenes of  _ Zuko _ replayed over and over in his mind. He analyzed every look, every word, every touch that had been shared between the two, and came to a bittersweet conclusion.

He had been wrong. Zuko  _ was _ gay. But Zuko wanted nothing to do with him, and Jet would have to deal with the consequences of knowing that. 

  
  



End file.
